


The Only Crime

by sporklift



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate universe - Mafia, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Murder, No Magic/Storybrooke, Non-Graphic Smut, Period-Typical Homophobia, aaaand i think that's about it for tags, consensual drunk sex, malcolm as own character, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporklift/pseuds/sporklift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: <b>The Mafia AU</b> </p><p>To Peter, family business had always been a chore. He didn't know why anyone would want in. The detriments weren't worth the benefits, not unless you were perched at the top. Which, incidentally, was his whole agenda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I've been working on this fic for 6 months and it's finally done and can I just~~. And it's a multichapter. I never do multichapters. We'll see how this goes. Chances are I'll get caught in a loop of revision because I'm waiting to upload them. But we'll see.
> 
> A million and eight thanks to my absolutely gorgeous and amazing beta, Natalie. She rocks my world and I couldn't have asked for more in a beta. I have an entire village to thank for this story, actually, but I'll post my official acknowledgements at the end of the last chapter as per usual. 
> 
> This story also contains some seriously minor Swan Thief later on, so head's up for that. It's minor enough that I figured it'd be rude to put it in the tag. But it's there. 
> 
> Uh. That's about it. I hope you all enjoy.

 

** **

 

 

 **P** eter's eighteenth birthday was a family affair. Everybody was there, down to the last weasel-eyed cousin who nearly got blacklisted last month. Tall old men Peter didn't know. Artistic, curved women he didn't care to get to know. Children who could reload a pistol blindfolded. Every last one of them in their best suits and most glitzy gowns. Every one of them stuffed in the biggest ballroom in the don's house.

There was bootleg champagne and music from an underpaid classical band, the room filled with cigars and business talk. The floor quaked as the white-bread wholesome waltzed with the bloodstained.

Peter would've preferred wet cigarettes and a boy who'd stare up at him from his knees and still insist he ain't queer if they got caught.

But his birthday was a family affair, so his preference didn't matter. It didn't bother him. Simply a matter of delayed versus instant gratification.

Although, the fact he got  _headlines_ in all the major papersdid give him pause. Though it might've been yet another one of his mother's vanity projects. Which seemed more and more likely every time she'd emerge from the closet. She'd stared at herself in the new dress and new jewels, wondering aloud if Regina might wear something more expensive.

But even that was better than the bulk of the party. All those hours behind Mr. Gold's uneven gait. Countless choruses of the same damn introduction reverberating in his ears.

"Greg Mendel, a friend of ours."

Sidney Glass. Mitchell Herman. Bo Peep. Victor Whale. Albert Spencer.

Anastasia. Jim. Keith. Walsh.

_Friends of ours._

They all blended together after a while. Each face blurred in his brain. It was nothing new. Family business had always been a chore. He didn't know why anyone would want in. The detriments weren't worth the benefits, not unless you were perched at the top.

By the third hour, Peter had been introduced to everyone who mattered. He'd even engaged in stiff small talk thereafter. And then the end was in sight. They came to a halt at the table tucked away from the noise resonating on the stage. Peter itched to disappear amongst the dancers and the drinkers. But Gold seemed to have some other ideas. "I assume you'd like to eat first, but we have some business to take care of in my office afterward."

Peter half wanted to flinch. Half yearned to drop his poise and dare deny the request. But he still had to play the game according to the same old rules.

To no one's surprise, Malcolm intervened. "Oh come along. It's Peter's birthday party. Your supply from Winnipeg can wait, can't it?"

Gold's eyes snapped shut, and Peter swore he heard the leaner man groan. "Malcolm, you of all people know that certain things cannot be left waiting."

Malcolm giggled, set his fork down on the table and dabbed his napkin on the side of his beard. "Naturally not. But do you require Peter for all of it? We're honored that you're mentoring him, of course, but this  _is_ one of his last nights to just enjoy the party like a child should. Why not cut him loose? Just for tonight- _ow!"_ He snapped his head over to his wife. "What was that for?"

Zelena sat up straighter, wicked smirk settling under her lips. She lowered her fork to her plate and began slicing through the veal before she spoke. "You're overstepping."

Peter coughed and spread his fingers along the satin tablecloth. "I know better than to weigh in on my father's opinion but, I think, he's on to something. You can take care of business upstairs and I'll keep things...running."

Gold drew his lips tight together. Caught in a thought Peter didn't need to bother to read to understand how it was going to end.

"Very well," He said after a moment. "I assume you know the more delicate aspects of hosting an event?"

"-such as not leaving halfway through?"

" _Malcolm!"_

Peter did his best to keep from making any sort of response to his father, opting instead to nod and smile. "Of course, sir."

Gold made himself scarce, more than happy to abandon the party in favor of mountains of papers and cheques. Perhaps even a police record or two. Perhaps missing children reports. Perhaps he was still trying to find his long-lost Baelfire. Pathetic old man.

One adult gone - two more to go.

Peter hardly waited for Gold to leave the room before he turned to his mother: "Mum, did you remember to invite Grandmother? I haven't seen her and I've been intending to…"

Zelena didn't even notice her son didn't finish his sentence. She deteriorated in seconds, straining to hold it together. A woman lost in thought, unraveling in pearls and silk. "Of course I invited her! She should be here by now. Are you sure you didn't see her?"

Peter nodded coolly.

"She must be running behind," Zelena seized her fork with enough force to blanche her knuckles. "She'll be here yet. She must; there's so much…"

Her train of thought was so clear it was almost cliché. It was a picture show, exaggerated beyond Chaplin's techniques.

The chair skidded on the floor when Zelena broke away napkin falling from her lap when she stood. "I'll phone her."

Malcolm reached out, circling his hand around his wife's wrist. "D'you reckon that's a good idea? You know what she can be like."

"Something must've happened. There's no reason she'd miss the party. She knows it's tonight and I put so much  _effort_  into it."

"Zelena…"

But Zelena only growled, upper lip curled. Spit out "Shut up" like it was venom and skated out of the ballroom.

"Well, someone's gonna have to pick up the pieces I s'pose," Malcolm muttered, lifting his glass to his lips. He inhaled as much liquid courage as he could before following his wife with a small stagger in his step.

Peter could have shaken his head at how easily he could tug on a string and make his parents dance. They had clay and water in place of flesh and blood. His parents were so easy to mold and send on this distraction or that. Most parents were; but it took a special sort of son to capitalize.

He was only alone at the table for a few moments. The chair beside him filled in a second by the one person he actually cared to see.

"The shoulder pads in your jacket make you look boxy," Peter said before Felix had settled. "The rest of you is too skinny. You might as well just take it off - you'll look better."

Felix opened his mouth to speak but nothing came from it except for the visibility of his tongue hitting the back of his teeth. He lowered his eyes, scanning his periphery before daring to mutter, "I'm sure you'll fix that later."

Eyes lit up, Peter quirked his brow, low laugh rumbling down in his throat. An open grin betrayed him as his gaze flew from Felix's eyes to where his body disappeared under the table. He usually didn't like cockiness used against him. But he was light from the bubbly champagne and didn't mind as much as he might've sober. "Confident, aren't we?"

Felix tilted his head to the side. He pulled a flask from under his coat and took a swig before shrugging at his friend. "I figured there was a reason you invited me. 's a bit too ritzy for my tastes."

"Oh? Did you forget your duties already, Felix?" Peter swiveled in his chair, mouth ready to either curl into a snarl or lift into a laugh when prompted.

Felix shook his head, a slow grin spreading from one end of his narrow face to the other as he handed the flask to Peter. "Not at all. But you could have sent someone more acclimated to this sort of thing."

Peter arched his brow, took a sip of the bitter domestic liquid. "What if I enjoy taking you out of your element?"

Felix conceded then, dropped the argument. He knew he'd never win.

Leaning back into his chair, Peter watched over the assortment of guests. Dignified family men holed up in corners. Cross faces debated the best ways to dispose of the rubbish. It had been Felix's job to get acquainted with the sons and daughters of these families. His responsibility to get these kids on their side by whatever means he needed. Dealing with adults who had already signed their names in blood was too risky; the margin of error was too big. But their children? Felix could manage that.

The children didn't understand how it worked, and that put Peter at an advantage. Most younger men didn't know the exact ways the Gold and Mills families butted heads. Or who would be the first to slip from Gold's protection if they ever got too chummy with the other side.

But the less Peter's  _blossoming_ family knew the better. It was in Peter's best interest if they remain just as lost as they were when they wandered in. They only had to believe they'd been found.

Felix took another sip from his flask before hiding it in his jacket. "They're all prepared for Wednesday."

"Good." Peter nodded and then leaned in a little closer. It wasn't wise to carry a private conversation in such a crowded room. But there was a thrill in being so blatantly discrete.

"You'll start a riot," He continued. "Make sure to allow Sheriff Humbert to arrest you. When you pay the fine, double the cheque - I'll cover it." He slid his eyes over to his friend, hitching at the visible shiver in Felix's spine. "I think it's about time the Storybrooke police get an idea of what we're up to, don't you?"

The stars in Peter's eyes faded the instant he saw Felix's frown, his stiff upper lip, the granite in his eyes.

"What?"

Felix thought it through, eyes moving as his brain turned, before opting to speak. "Are we in the position to let anyone know?"

"We've touched in with the children of every familyman in a twelve mile radius. I've got ties in New York. If there's a position to be in, I'm in it."

"Of course, Peter." Felix said, voice free of lilt or expression.

" _What?"_

Felix sighed. "The sheriff has a known loyalty to the Mills family. Perhaps he'll have loose lips."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Leave that to me. Go dance or something," He waved his hand, bidding his friend disappear into the fray. "Meet you upstairs at midnight."

The tall boy tried to keep his eyes from sparking when he nodded. He tried to keep the usual labor in his step as he slunk into the mass of colorful dresses and silk suits. Peter lifted another flute to his lips. He gulped down the bubbling liquid with a speed that could send a lesser boy reeling.

 

 **I** t wasn't Peter's birthday anymore when he stumbled through the doors to the room he kept in the Gold house. The whole place, wallpaper to floor, dotted around his vision. Nobody would've blamed him if he grabbed the armoire for leverage. But he wasn't alone, and thus he made himself stand tall as he moved to latch the door.

Felix lounged just a little across the room. A mason jar of giggle-water dripped in his hand. His tie was flung over the winged back of the chair. Jacket and waistcoat distant memories of black splotches inked in on the hard floors. His shirt unbuttoned, a threadbare vest underneath. Braces dangled down by his knees, rendered inefficient. He smiled when Peter entered and struggled to stand with wobbly knees.

Peter snorted back a laugh. He slid his tie from his neck and draped it over the shining gold doorknob. Careful fingers pulled it over the keyhole lest anyone think it funny to peek through. "You're drunk."

"So're you." Felix tested his hypothesis with a jab to the shoulders. Peter stumbled over his feet at the impact. "Th _ou_ ght you liked us like this."

Peter glared. "And what ar'you trying to  _prove_  by baitin' me?"

"Same as  _al_ ways." Felix's voice hit more pitches in those three words than they usually ranged in a whole conversation.

Peter loved these times. Loved these chances to break so many rules at once. Fuck prohibition and fuck social decency. And fuck both  _extremely_ well at the same time.

"I think I forgot," He lied, throat warm from gin. "Remind me, won't you?"

Felix lifted the mason jar to his lips. He took a long drink and pulled Peter in by the collar. Their mouths latched together, burning liquid sloshing between them.

Peter discarded Felix's jar on the nightstand. He seized the threadbare vest in sweaty fists, walked backwards. Those kisses burnt, churned like a thunderhead in a rainstorm. Felix's hands were warm and strong, calloused on the knuckles. Rough palms ran in long lines up and down his body. Coarse and strong against the juncture of his shoulder to the jut in his hips.

Peter's shirt crumpled on the floor. His laugh rang through the room, grew louder when Felix winced.

" _Shhh._ " Felix fell on the bed and Peter pushed him into the pillows, warm and prickly from alcohol. "Don't let 'em hear you."

"That's what doors're for." Peter rolled his eyes, bit the tendon in Felix's throat. His fingers hooked in Felix's belt loops, pulled down with a scythe's intent, and pushed the fabric away.

Felix almost snarled. It quickly diffused to a gasp when Peter's hand cupped around him, rubbed his prick up to a slow, drunk attention.

" _Peter,_ I mean it," Felix slurred. "If th' fam'ly finds out…"

"They won't," Peter gained speed in his wrist, lips against Felix's as he repeated himself. "They won't."

Felix nodded, hair tangling on the pillows. His mouth snapped in retaliation of Peter's lips stringing him along. Peter's hand conducted the bucking in his hips to the underlying swell of the orchestra a floor below. And Felix returned the phrase. "They won't."

Peter buried his knee between Felix's thighs. Small compensation when his hand left Felix's cock in favor of holding his face, dug his thumb into the soft skin under Felix's jaw. The kid's pulse was going berserk, and faster still when Peter rolled his hips, grinded on his leg. "Don't you trust me?"

"'Course." Felix shuddered, one hand held Peter's wrist in place, threatening to leave a bruise behind. The other gripped the pillows by his head, a valiant attempt to ground himself in the world spinning 'round and 'round.

The morning came to Peter's ears like a hammer to his skull. The loud footfall and inane chatter of maids and other overnight guests. His eyes flew open. The sunlight weakened, diffused through the curtains, but it was still altogether too bright.

His own groan afterwards blared to a crescendo. Felix buried his head underneath a pillow. He nosed in deeper into any bedclothes that would muffle the sounds.

"Oh, come on Felix, it's not that bad." Peter laughed, paused and considered the throbbing in his temple. Deciding he'd much rather have fun than gripe through a temporary sickness, he raised his voice again. "Come out and say good morning."

Felix whimpered into the mattress.

"That's not very nice."

With a groan, the boy emerged from the bedclothes. He looked like death itself. Wincing in the sunlight, more sallow-faced than usual. He waited for a few lingering moments, glaring as Peter worsened his own headache with a laugh.

Felix rolled himself onto his side, up on his elbows and gazed at Peter with tired, red eyes. "Do you remember?"

"A bit. 'nough to remember the general idea." Peter squinted and rolled circles on his forehead with the pads of his fingers.

Felix chortled and gracelessly returned to his back on the mattress with what could only be described as a  _flop._ He covered his eyes before he tried speaking a second time. "How should I go?"

Peter continued to rub his temples, retelling the scheme as usual. Felix would wait until Peter had left for breakfast. He'd count to seventy and slide out the backdoor.

That was always how it went, every time they'd had an ill-conceived affair at the Gold house. Usually they met up in Felix's apartment. At worst they'd be at the bad end of a middle-aged woman's gossip session. Nothing to worry about unless it spread. And that made things easier. It was the frying pan to buffer the fire constantly scorching around them. But, to stick with the metaphor, Gold's house was an incinerator.

But it didn't worry them. They'd been managing their affair for a few years and never once were they caught. Not since Felix pulled the trigger on Moe French. Led him out to the docks by the fisheries and ended it in two seconds flat. One small tick in his index finger. The shot rang-  _Bang! -_ Man down. Just like that.

They were sixteen at the time.

It wasn't a messy kill. The old man fell into the black water with an abrasive splash. And the deed was done. The family was appeased. Felix had his first hit. And Peter felt a sharp jolt of electricity heat his veins before Felix's gun stopped smoking.

He tried to make sense of the prickly warmth still boiling in his gut. But to no avail. Peter still hadn't come down from the endorphins even after Moe French's body had stopped entertaining nearby fish. Peter had expected the salty ocean air to take care of it. He expected them to lessen later on, after he'd relaxed on the couch. Distance should have done it. But nothing could have stopped his excitement. Not that night.

And, so, he spoke. "You killed a man today, Felix."

The boy in question stood by the window, gazed out on the sooty horizon. Peter kept his eyes poised on him, saw how he pulled the windsor knot around his neck loose before he'd even consider responding. But he still didn't say anything; instead allowed his actions to prompt his friend to continue. His head slid to the side, his attention fixed as a sheepdog's.

"Officially a familyman, I suppose." Peter raised a brow in mock salute. "How's your conscience holding out?"

Felix's lips quirked up. Peter's lungs felt tight.  _Bang_. All the power in the world in his hand and something in Peter's stomach jittered.

An assortment of deviancy rolled around in Peter's spine. Not quite envy and not quite greed. The spikes felt too close to something else he couldn't turn back from.

Couldn't, and if he was to be entirely honest, he wouldn't want to.

Felix's tongue hit the back of his teeth. "I didn't have much of a conscience to begin with."

Peter could smell the coast's gritty air on Felix. He wasn't close enough to stand on his friend's toes. But one more step and he would have. "Maybe not, but I saw you on out there. Saw how keen you were."

Felix didn't recoil. He dropped his glass beside Peter's on the table and returned his hands to his sides. They stimmed there.

Peter interpreted it as a go-ahead. "You want to know what I saw?" He dared take another step. Spikes in his spine, lightning in his gut, whiskey in his throat. A breath for emphasis. "I saw a boy who's been shoved around his whole life finally getting the chance to prove himself. But to who? You've been in the family for years. Your first hit, but you wouldn't let  _that_ get you all bothered."

"What are you saying, Peter?" Felix slouched further in his shoulders to equalize their heights.

"I'm saying you liked it." Peter grinned through his accusation. "You liked having cold metal in your hand. You liked the fact that just by curling one finger you could have the world on its  _knees_."

Felix stiffened, awkward and gangly, all stooped over above Peter.

"Because deep down, you know that's what it feels like to be someone." Peter met his eyes. The same black coastal waves from earlier. Back when Moe French plummeted into the bay to be eel fodder. "You're on the family's commission right now, but the point's the same. When you're someone, you can do whatever you like. You don't have to worry about the police; imagine what you don't have to worry about when you're someone  _in_ the family. Imagine what you can get away with when you're a Gold."

Felix's brow curled, years at Peter's side proving their effect in the mannerism.

Peter continued: "In fact, I reckon you're fantasizing about what you could do in that position right now. What you'd get away with, without having to worry about the law. Or the family. Aren't you?"

He hadn't realized he pulled a trigger of his own until Felix's hands clasped over the sides of his face. His head snapped up to the ceiling and Felix's mouth slotted into his.

They'd barely begun when Peter's hands fanned out on the bony chest flush with his. He shoved and the boy tumbled backwards.

Eyes wide, Felix gaped. His jaw wagged for a second, choking on words. Eyes apologizing. "I thought you-I thought you were saying…"

Peter's mind snapped. He swallowed hard, before stepping in a second time, drinking in Felix's reaction. He shoved his friend a second time, causing the boy to collapse on the sofa. It creaked underneath him, his tie fell and crumpled on the dirty panels of the floor.

In the next flurry of limbs, Peter swung his leg up and over, hovering with his knees on either side of Felix's hips. Blood pumping, overwriting all his nerves. His fingers began to toy with the buttons on Felix's starched white shirt. He could feel the sea air damp inside the fabric.

Felix blinked. "Peter,  _what_ -?"

"If we're doing this," Peter vocalized his whisper, heady and hot with bright moonlight and gunpowder. "I get to say how."

He waited, just long enough to notice Felix lift his chin to nod, before craning in close. He pulled the buttons from their neat row on Felix's chest, broke through the material. He sucked on Felix's lower lip just enough to make him whimper.

It hadn't been the best fuck that time, but good enough to keep Peter coming back. The image of Felix holding a gun and blasting through bone and brain was almost erotic in itself. And Peter couldn't help himself. They'd collide as soon as they could afterwards. Both of them disappearing where no one could find them and sweat and strain and grab at each other's backs till they were in shreds. And then, somehow, they stopped needing that reason.

And then, for no reason at all, Peter had gotten scars on his back, and old scars would get renewed after long nights together. Between secret meetings between the two of them, and plans to make everything theirs, it was the glory days. And they only got better and better.


	2. Chapter 2

**O** fficially, and according to the town, it was a theater. Before 1921, it had been a bar, a place that made the wholesome quiver and the sinners rejoice. Housemothers and busibodies alike had been glad to see the Rabbit Hole get reformed. But what they didn't know, or rather, what they preferred to ignore, was that the place was scattered with trapdoors. And that behind a trick wall in the maintenance closet, the Rabbit Hole thrived just as it had the decade before. Courtesy of the Gold family, of course.

Behind the wall, it was some sort of otherworld. Everything spun hazy from smoke and heady from alcohol, and all time stood still. The jazz piano and trumpets blared. The flirty birdies with short hair and dresses hemmed above the knee tripped over their ankles.

Break one rule, break more. That was the law of the place. Or at least it seemed so to Peter as his eyes scanned over the crowd. A jovial interaction between Lance Knight and Ariel Finn (as though there were nothing socially unacceptable about it). And in that same vein, Billy Guus could lean against the bar and flirt with Ruby Lucas without fear of a prison cell.

There was freedom in these four walls, or at least the illusion of it; and that's what made it so powerful.

Felix would be more likely to point out that people couldn't be bothered care for the abandonment of social mores with a jar of white lightning in their fists. But he lacked a sort of artistry in the matter - lacked creativity. He saw things with an observer's mind, not like an ingenuine. He'd stand behind the bar and serve whiskey from the spigot. Mix it with however much orange juice or flavoring to make something resembling a cocktail. Still, he never bothered creating anything himself. Sometimes he'd play the piano, take another person's creativity off the sheet music and recant it for strangers.

For all the time Felix worked in the Rabbit Hole, it seemed funny that he'd never been hired. It was one of those things that happened by mistake. A happy accident.

Peter had found it mildly annoying at first. It cut down on Felix's time, spread it thin. Yanked between family duties, running the distillery in the wood, and Peter himself. But it meant Felix always had liquor to spare. Peter hated the taste even with sugar or citrus, but it was a rule he could shatter. And, at the very least, he'd go home with someone. Another law to disregard.

That night, Felix wasn't the one to serve him, but rather, Ruby. It worked out just as well, he thought. He eyed Felix handing glasses of something red to a pair of dollies on the other end and shook away the unpleasant taste on the back of his tongue.

"Southside," Ruby said, wiping up the side with a towel before gesturing he grab the glass.

With a small frown, Peter looked at cup. "Homemade gin or Canadian?"

"Right from Montreal." Ruby sifted onto one hip and flicked her head.

Peter nodded and slipped an envelope over the surface of the bar.

"Tip?"

"Payment."

Ruby grabbed the envelope and held it in close to her stomach, as though that would protect it. "For the liquor or...?"

"For keeping the fence up." Peter shook his head. The transparency in the code was laughable but, it would suffice. "That's the last of it. Until any new information comes in, if any."

Ruby pressed her lips together, the rouge faded as they collapsed on themselves. They popped out brighter than ever when she moved to speak. "He's getting good at avoiding us. He might slip under in a few years."

Peter's eyes flashed. A temper threatened to reveal itself for a flare of a moment, but then he regained control. He parted his lips into a small open grin, his elbows against the bar. "But you won't let that happen. You know what Gold'll do if he catches word you know where Baelfire is. Or that you and your mum have helped us hide him from Gold's inquiries for all these years. You're in this for good."

Ruby's eyes darted around the bar. She scoured over the crowd for anyone who might be listening in. Scrambled to pick up Peter's slack. When it appeared everyone was too preoccupied with their gin and laughter, she looked back at Peter. "Yes, we won't lose his trail."

"There's a good girl."

She could only nod. No other response would've been acceptable.

It was quite a funny concept. Saying the wrong thing could result in the death of three generations of one bloodline. But such was the way of family life. Getting to be offended was a sign of power, and Peter wanted more than he was getting. He wanted more than sweeping the floors in Gold's shop and functioning as an underboss. He wanted more than making sure everyone paid for the alcohol and kept their fists at their sides. But that would come with time, patience, and a certain brand of talent Peter had in spades. And, in the meantime, there was the Rabbit Hole.

Nights at the Rabbit Hole were always eventful. Some more than others. But no matter how many things would happen, who would sprain an ankle doing the shim-sham on a tabletop, who got into a drunken brawl, Peter could appreciate the finite dichotomy between a night with familymen trying to get ahead and townsfolk trying to have a good time. Funny how no one else figured out how to manage both.

Peter decided to prove that he could and stood from the bar. Crossed legs on the dance floor with some buxom, doll faced hoofer. Cheated a few grown men out of their paycheques in card games here or there. Jazz bursted through the air, behind walls and levers and pulleys. Peter was not only the most powerful person in the room, but the one having the most fun.

And he carried this haughty air with him through the night. Even when he kicked his legs on the dance floor. Even when he looked over to the bartenders. Just in case one of them decided to slip back into the supply closet to pick up a few extra jars.

Which was exactly where they wound up. The air was cool and wet and carried the scent of twenty different kinds of liquor. Went to your head immediately. A single lightbulb on a string pretended offered a pale buzzing light. It'd be insufficient to see markings on boxes, even what box was in hand. Which was why it was perfectly reasonable for Felix to be gone from the bar for a long while.

And so, Peter followed, slamming the door behind himself.

He spun around, frown etched too deep on his face not to be laughable. "You followed me in?"

Peter cocked a brow and flashes his favorite sort of sly grin, a twisted meandering curl to his lips. "Did I?" He took a step forward. "You know you don't get points for restating the obvious."

"I wasn't aware I was getting points." Felix mused. His glance darted between his friend's even-paced approach and the door across the way that didn't lock.

"Then I'm afraid you don't know me very well after all," he caught sight of the path Felix's eyes took and ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Nobody saw me come in."

"I'm sure no one who  _you_ saw."

Peter laughed again, having moved to stand close, inches away from Felix. "Do you really think they're looking at us that closely? Nobody's suspicious. And if you like I can help you carry whatever crate you need when we leave. Make a cover."

"And what exactly are we covering up?"

"Believe it or not, I just wanted to chat." Peter saw the deadpan gaze directed at him and he sighed. Drew his words down into a low drawl, hand reaching out to tuck under Felix's jacket. A thumb slid into his waistcoat. "But it's  _so damn distracting_ when you dare me like this."

Felix wasn't sure what part of their exchange could have possibly been interpreted as a dare, but he'd learned a long time ago not to question Peter. "If you want to talk, maybe we should do it elsewhere?"

"Nonsense," Peter scrunched up his nose, "When else will I find the time?"

"You paid Ruby in the middle of a crowded room; is this different?"

"Of course it is." Peter tutted. "That was family business. This is  _important."_

Felix conceded, nodded. "What do you need?"

"I want to know what you're planning to say to the Sheriff when you-" Something hit against the door, a hollow jangling, a scuffle. Peter stopped in his tracks. Someone was trying to tug the door open. Pressing against the wood.

Felix froze in kind. Perhaps if they were quick enough to grab a crate, step away from each other, the intruder would have no reason to think anything of it. It was a maintenance closet, a dank little room tucked away, there was nothing unsavory about it. Aside from the fact they were alone together with Peter's hands rested so intimately on Felix's ribs wouldn't have done them any favors.

Before Felix had time to think or move for a plan, Peter'd already hissed, "C'mon" and tugged him behind the crates, far away from the light. There were mason jars filled with moonshine and crates with bottles of Montreal's finest around them. But there was enough of a space between the crates for both of them to see everything under the pale white light without reciprocal treatment.

The door swung open, a column of buttery light cast onto the boxes, a few meters away from their heads. The trumpet fare and tatting on the drums muffled out on the swell of a crescendo with the door slamming shut once more. Peter and Felix still tucked away behind the boxes, Felix lost all languity. Every misstep he'd taken and this could very well be the last moment he had before it all fell apart.

Shrouded by the shadows around the boxes and crates, Felix couldn't make out Peter's expression, but he'd pressed a long finger up to Felix's mouth, silencing him. He wasn't jumping to conclusions, he was  _calculating._ He must've figured they wouldn't be seen as long as they stayed in the shadows.

Had he planned this?

Felix shook the thought from his brain. Peter might have been the sort to absorb the exhilaration from close calls, but he always had a handle on it. Peter didn't take risks. Especially not when it came to them: Peter played with matches, not the flame.

However, when the harsh scrape of wood against the floor and even Felix's curiosity got the better of him, as he stooped and crowded over to the gap in the wood where he could observe the intruders.

Clambering in through the heavy door and slamming it shut as they were through, two young men rolled their crooked steps into the pale light. Felix recognized one of them as Sean Herman - son of a Gold familyman, a soldier of lower rank; he was the sort only used for booze pick-up or for intimidation in a group hit. Beside him: Phillip Prince. He was lower still, though still an associate of Gold, a metal piece to help the cogs turn so the more important machinery could work.

And he leaned against the door, pressed it to seal in its heavy frame; Sean Herman wobbled into the cool air, dragging his knees along a crate and plummeted down on the splintery wood. Half-empty jars clinked together as the extra weight jostled the glasses to the side.

Felix looked down, careful to move slow as if the movement of head were enough to alert Phillip and Sean of their presence. Although they were hidden in the shadow, Felix could still see the dozens of wheels turning in his head.

It was terrifying and  _exciting_ in a way he couldn't comprehend.

"Are you okay?" Phillip asked from the door, stumbling over to the boxes. "Sure you're not too far on the edge for this?"

"I'm not, just a little tipsy is all." Sean shook his head, wagging just a little, as he pulled Phillip's wrists until the slighter man was standing - hips bracketed by Sean's knees. "You are too."

"Okay," Phillip's voice almost broke. If the situation weren't so dire, Felix might have had the nerve to roll his eyes. Across the room he saw Phillip's hand lift and shift against the back of Sean's head. Fingers fanned between the short blond hair in Phillip's hand. The next breath was unvocalized, a small whisper carried on the air. "Missed you."

Felix's head hit the crate next to his forehead. A small muted  _thunk._ It might have been loud if not for the sudden upheaval of breath across the room. Sean's head compressed in the crook of Phillip's shoulder. Phillip holding him close, petting affectionately at the back of his head.

"It always has to be so long in between," Sean murmured, hands sloping up and down Phillip's ribs. He held the boy out at arms length, "But...you know..."

Phillip nudged him, soft, face saccharine and eyes sad. "Responsibility?"

"Responsibility." Sean paused. "Work. Bonds. Stocks. Wives." He played with the hem in Phillip's jacket for a beat, as though it were usual asked, "How's yours?"

"Aurora's lovely, as usual. Doing well." Phillip almost, strange as it seemed, had the smallest of grins betraying his face. "If she and Mulan can put the baby to bed on time, she'll be more than that...and Ashley?"

Something collapsed. A grey tinge set through the room, as though from a picture show and Sean's hands almost dropped to his side. "She's...afraid. She knows something's wrong but-" he swallowed, air looked bitter as it went down and Phillip's thumb came up to stroke at Sean's cheek. A sweet loving rhythm. Sean continued. "I can't imagine what she'd think if she found out. I...I don't like lying to her."

Phillip frowned, leaned so close that his forehead pressed against Sean's, and if it weren't for the break in music from the other room, Felix may not have even heard the next turn of phrase, a soft whisper only meant to be heard by one.

"If you want to stop, just tell me. I'll understand."

Sean's head lifted from where it had dropped. His hands moved up, ran a long line up and down Phillip's arm, his eyes wide and fearful when he asked, "Do you want that?"

Phillip sighed. There was the acceptable answer, the one that all decent people would say, but his frown deepens and eyes lost all luster when he shifted his weight, moved in closer. "No."

"Neither do I," Sean whispered, sitting up straighter and locking mouths with him, shifting his body as Phillip melted into it, palms sliding under his trousers.

A kiss to the neck and Felix gripped the crate at his side till his knuckles turned white. In front of him, Peter's head ducked down, tucked into his shoulder, eyes shifting back and locking on Felix, watching as his throat struggled to bob, throat gone dry.

From their little nook, secluded in the dark, Felix quickly found himself unable to look away when clothes peeled away, pushed to the floor. Thin, flushed bodies together. Both had enticing, blunt planes and angles, both of them had parts threatening to disintegrate with further years of fatherhood and marriage to someone else. A fleshy swell on the stomach, the top of an arm. Neither of them seemed to think anything of it, Sean holding Phillip close between his legs with a straining vein popping out of his forearm.

They were strangers kissing across the room and there was no reason that should have brought Felix's stomach to the floor, but his knees started to wobble. Some odd novelty in watching two men, dim light casting shadows against gorgeous faces, as they came together. No talk about victory, no worry they'd get caught. Foregoing all of the build up and verbal to and fro that Felix was accustomed, just to hold the other close and swallow down feral refrains deep in the other's throat.

It was almost disgustingly sweet and if Felix were able to feel anything but a muted buzzing hovering over his skin, he might have sneered. It felt like a punch to his gut, a damning curiosity when trousers shuffled to the floor. Upright glistening cocks, different girth and curve than Peter's or his own, from an odd angle that Felix wasn't sure if he liked looking at. The way a hand came over it, rubbing circles and snicking open a bottle from some trenchcoat pocket, Sean's warbling low sigh - a startling difference in the sounds from the way Peter's breaths had always been, manic and high in the air like a song. Instead these were low and rumbling. Felix had never imagined differences before.

Phillip joined Sean Herman on the crate. Hovering on his knees over his lap. Hands caressing the sides of his face. Soft. Loving. How could simply tracing the line of someone's lip seem so climactic?

The bottle from the trenchcoat pocket fell on the floor, louder than anything else. Felix almost jumped, grown too used to the scraping breeze of sound around him.

Felix blinked and missed the pivotal moment Phillip Prince sunk down on Sean Herman's cock. The sound was unmistakable, two cries, a conflicting almost melodious chord in the air - amending itself as the cry faded into ragged breaths. A steady rhythm, open mouths, loud kisses. Witnessing intimacy. A thrum of shock rippled up and down Felix's stomach, his spine, although not at all for the reason it should have.

To his side, he heard Peter snicker, low in his throat. They might have been heard if not for the obvious distraction in the center of the room. Felix hadn't realized he'd hunched over till Peter shifted in under him, causing his back to arc up to a fuller extent of his height. Eyes glinting, electric and aloof. Peter cocked his head, studying Felix's face for a fleeting moment before flittering down. He didn't step forward so much as he swayed, sliding from one foot to the other, closer until his thigh slotted in between Felix's, jerked his knee up. The air, suddenly hot around them, and the slightest of stimulation, was enough to pull the blood from Felix's veins.

Peter snickered when Felix's hand flew up to his mouth, muffling any sounds threatening to teeter through. Peter's knee embedded, pressing against the heat through his trousers, the ache and stiffness slowly making its presence known.

Hot ragged breaths seethed louder, harder, fragmented. An exhausted moan, a pitchy " _Sean!"_ carried on the air. Peter stepped in closer, hands clasping on either side of Felix's hips. He brought one knee upwards, balancing on one leg, elegant snake's eyes, and his eyes glinted bright in the dark. He pressed a kiss to his collar then, jerked his leg up and snickered softly as Felix clenched his fingers over his mouth, grasping so with white knuckled vehemence to not let a single sound kettle through.

If he hadn't been daring Peter before...

Felix could still see them under the white light. Phillip's legs thrown on either side of Sean's hips, clutching his chest. A sloping curve to both of their backs, mouths wet and swollen.

From his place in front of Felix, Peter grinned. All the mischief in the world in one manic expression. His lips traveled from the triangle of fabric on his collar to the knot on Felix's tie and upwards again. His tongue on Felix's neck and Felix gulped in as much air as he could muster to swallow the sound.

Felix said nothing - - remained rooted to the spot. His free hand, somewhere along the way had coiled around Peter's waist. Keeping him from falling on his one leg. Keeping him from moving away.

Peter looked back over his shoulder and between the boxes at the two familymen, writhing together, cries getting faint and helpless, Phillip losing vehemence. Something desperate melting into something longing. Disgustingly so. And yet.

Jostling his hips to graze against the sharp planes of Felix's, Peter hoped to make it clear that he was just as enthralled by the soundtrack. He removed his lips, lowered his leg, cocked a brow and stood still.

Felix liked to interpret it as asking permission.

He took his hand away from his mouth. Moving as slowly as possible, straining to keep them as quiet and contained in the dark as he could, he obliged. Stooped lower and parted his lips; Peter closed the rest of the way.

Everything slowed to take double the time. Peter's teeth sunk into his lip. He broke the skin. It stung, but not enough to force Felix to relent a wince. He returned in kind. All teeth to cover any sort of smack flesh on flesh might have caused. Lips closing over for a beat before the cycle began again, concentrated in Peter's sharp canines.

The noises grew louder again. It felt like a sin to look away from Peter, but the graved tones, shallow breathing, high whines, it pressed against his humanity, urged him to look. There was nothing so human, after all, as a man reeling through climax.

Peter's head in the crook of Felix's neck. He could smell the soap from his scalp. The mothballs from the wardrobe he'd kept his suits.

And across the room Sean Herman's hands splayed out on the small of Phillip Prince's back, tugged him in closer. From the side it was a profile of pure frustration, tension, even pain as the two held each other close and closer still.

There was something both alien and enticing at playing the voyeur. The strange way Sean Herman's jaw clenched whereas Peter's always went slack. The way Phillip Prince's brow flew up toward his hair when Felix knew his always inverted.

The way he watched and couldn't care less about either of them but found his ears ringing. Wanting them to finish nonetheless.

However. It lacked something. Perhaps that the fear, the danger was not innately his. Perhaps simply because it was not Peter and therefore an orgasm was solely that and lacked all substance.

But -  _fuck_  - he didn't want it to be over.

Sean and Phillip cried out in kind. They went slack pressed up to one another. Slippery, sloven kisses sloshed between them. And they waited for their breaths to even out.

"How are you feeling?" Phillip asked first, gravely voice soft and exhausted. His hand swept up through sweat stained hair.

Sean Herman grinned, lazy and tired-eyed. "All goofy."

Philip sucked in a laugh, sad and infatuated all at once. He pressed his knuckles into Sean's chest in an ineffectual punch. "Glad to hear it, Daddy-o."

They remained in that room far longer than Felix would have wanted them to. Talking over how, maybe, next time they might be able to kip in at Phillip's house. soft words that dissolved with the delay in breath into small talk. Alexandra was walking. Phillip's son. had been colicky lately. There was something disturbing in the two, all cleaned up, but still touching, speaking in whispers. Intimate beyond all reason. Talking, not so much as doomed lovers swept up in an affair, but as two people with lives inexplicably entwined.

And by the time they'd run out of words, foolishly shuffled out of the room beside one another, the air returned. Musty and chilled. None of the excitement from before lingered. Rather than try to revive it without stimulation, Peter pulled away. He coughed only once to clear his airways, before he returned his hands to his sides.

The moment had gone and Peter had business to attend to.

"Well. Before we're interrupted again, what was your plan for intercepting the sheriff, exactly?"

 

****  


 

 **W** iping his lip on the back of his wrist, Felix frowned at the red smear left behind, a small growl built in the back of his throat. The entire point was to start a fight bad enough to get arrested, but he hadn't expected to be on the receiving end of the punches after the riot started. No matter. Some warm salt water and his cut would heal in a matter of days; besides, Peter's plan was far more important than a dig against Felix's pride and a slash through his lip.

He waited in a holding cell, sat up straight on the cot, gaze fixed on his hat perched on the sheriff's desk. The rest of the crowd, other young adults Peter had wrangled here or there, paid their fines from the public disturbance, and were told, one by one, their bail fee if anyone else intended to charge anyone involved for assault.

A few hours passed, Felix's eyes slid from his hat across the room to the clock. Peter had given him a strict timetable. If Sheriff Humbert wasted any more time, Felix would have to explain himself to Peter, and he wanted so badly to do this  _right_.

Thankfully, after taking cheques from the last two stragglers, the time came. He did his best not to show any nervousness; the most important thing Peter's ever entrusted to him. He had to get it right.

The sheriff turned to face him, then. "Do you need to make a call to pay your fine?"

"It's in my coat pocket." Felix shook his head.

Sheriff Humbert went to the desk, and finding Felix's jacket the last of them, reached into the pocket to find the narrow leather-bound book in question. No words passed between them as the small booklet slid through with a dark pen beside it..

"How much?"

"Seven dollars."

Felix blinked. "That's a little expensive."

"It's the law," The man said, eyes tired as he took a moment to consult with the ceiling. "If you don't have that much in your accounts, you do still have the option to call."

With a shake of his head, Felix wrote out the cheque. And he waited.

The fallout happened the instant the sheriff had the slip of paper in his hand. His mouth dropped, a dark shadow fell over his eyes. "This...this is fourteen. And it's made out to me."

"Observant." Felix murmured out on a sigh, "I am here on behalf of Peter Gold."

"The Gold family?" The sheriff's face collapsed, eyes retreating in a way his body could not. "There's no reason - I've been conscientious and tried to appease all Gold's-"

"Did I say anything about Mr. Gold?" Felix leaned against the bars, one hand outstretched above his head, and the other supporting his body weight at chest level. He waited for the quizzical look to take over the sheriff's handsome face before he decided to continue. "As I said: I'm here on Peter's behalf."

Humbert frowned, eyes gone dark. "Go on."

"I'm sure you're familiar with the family's  _tug-of-war_. You're involved with them intimately enough to know the discord between them." Felix paused, locked his gaze onto a dull silver in the bars, a place where the finish on the metal had been worn thin. He flicked his eyes back to the sheriff's, hoping to snuff out any underlying flame with the action. "And when their unstable state is broken - Peter is the next contender to take over. On both ends."

Lifting the slip of paper in his hands with his thumb and forefinger, as though Felix's pen had been dipped in venom, the sheriff spoke once more. "And what's this for?"

Felix managed to grin, wide at first, but made sure it dropped, millimeter by millimeter as his sentence wound on. "Peter would like the reassurance that, no matter what he and his friends decide to do, he has your department's full support. And, of course, if there's a conflict of interest between Peter or the Golds or the Millses, that any evidence or testimony will slip through your fingers."

The sheriff blinked a few times, set the cheque down on a table, and placed his hands on his waist. "If you're implying what I think you are-"

"You think I'm out of my depth," Felix sighed, flexed his hands on the bars before he continued. "You don't know what he's capable of."

Taking a breath, Felix tried to watch the contemplation growing on the sheriff's face.

He went on: "Call New York City, call Chicago. The only Gold they'll think of is Peter. You're surrounded; he will not fail. But he is offering you the chance to get behind him and reap the benefits."

"Why the money, then?"

"He understands this is a volatile situation. If you let it slip to any of the bosses - or an underboss during pillow talk," Felix tried not to snicker at the way the sheriff blanched from the top of his head all the way to his neck, "It could mean disaster. Peter wants you to have this as a reminder to keep your loyalties in check until he's able to make good on the future. And he can always pay you more."

The sheriff stood, making no sudden movements. "That's a lot of risk for something that might not happen."

Felix almost saw red for a fraction of a moment. The idea of someone outright defying Peter's capabilities was a thought he was utterly unwilling to entertain. But then he collected his temper once more. "But if you lack the confidence and  _common sense_ to see that it will, maybe this will be a further incentive."

Felix waited for the sheriff to look him in the eye once more.

"I suppose you're a normal man, sheriff. How much do you have in stocks right now? Half your life savings? All of them? I'm sure you'll recall that Peter has friends in New York. On Wall Street. And it's amazing how much a broker can forget these days. Where will you be if they lose your number, Sheriff?"

"You're trying to threaten me," The sheriff broke off, walked in a semi-circle away from the cell and Felix rested his forehead on the bars in front of him. "But you're the one in the cell."

"If I don't make it out by," Felix looked at the clock. 4:39. "Five tonight, Peter will make some phone calls. Your stocks will all crash overnight, all you'll have left is your job and your reputation." He sighed for effect, flicking his eyes from the ground to the sheriff's, "And we both know I can knock that over in one conversation with Cora."

The man shifted, not moving towards his keys nor moving to tear the cheque.

Felix decided to move to seal the deal. "If you want self-preservation, you'll listen to me. If you want wealth and comfort, you'll listen to me. If you want to lose everything, you won't. Your options are clear."

He did his best not to grin too widely when the man reached out for his keys, wordlessly springing the heavy barred door open, metal clinking the whole time. The rest of the exchange was silent, Felix grabbed his coat and hat, but he didn't move for the door. He could all but hear the strum from how tight all of the sheriff's muscles were drawn. A surge of power, of influence took Felix for a moment and he took longer than he should have to fasten his hat on his head, to slide his coat up his long arms. And then he, after a long while, ticked his head back to the sheriff.

"One more thing," He drawled. "I need to use your phone."


	3. Chapter 3

**T** he bell at the top of the door of Gold's pawn shop had a soft chime. That particular detail didn't  _matter,_ especially since the entire business was merely a cover for family matters. But Peter still couldn't help but grin at the underlying satire in the delicate noise.

Delicate noises for dangerous games.

The grin faded when he turned about to see who prompted the delicate bell to chime and saw a black dress with some sort of intricate embroidery wrapped around her shoulders.

"Hello, Peter."

Cora Mills had a voice like air. It carried her smog on a breeze so mild you might not even realize you're breathing in pollutants until it's affected your head.

And that much, Peter could respect.

It was everything else in Cora and her presence that made him clench his jaw when he replied, "Hello,  _Nan._ "

Cora pursed her lips, gave a little tut. "Now when have I ever suggested I wanted you to call me that?"

"It's a  _title_." He picked up a pilsner glass some law-abiding townsperson had sold to the shop at the head of the decade. "Easiest way to separate the generations, don't you think?"

"I'd prefer Grandmother."

"Ah, got a  _preference_. Never would've guessed _."_ He paused and tilted his head. "I assume this isn't a social call. Or that you intend to give me more inventory to stock."

"What would I have to sell to this place?" Cora returned. "An old stuffed monkey of your mother's maybe, but I doubt that would get me a good price. No, Peter. You know why I'm here."

It felt almost like a scolding and Peter had to bite his tongue when he nodded. Glass still in hand, he crossed the shop briskly and flipped the sign in the door from  _Open_ to  _Closed_ and twisted the key in the lock.

"Shall we?" Cora said before he could turn around, leading herself into the back room.

Gold's grand interior design was much less inspired in the shop than it was at the house. No fancy linens or mahogany furniture. Instead, a rickety table and assorted knick knacks from around the shop. A stupid man might've been fooled into thinking that's all it was.

"My dear Gold, this place is filthy," Cora said, ushering herself in and waving away the dust with a gloved hand. "I thought you might take better care of your investments."

"Ah, Cora. To what do I owe this  _unexpected_ visit?" Gold remained seated at the compact piano in front of him, polish in one hand, brown rag in the other. The fan noisily voided the room of the silence lingering in between the spurts of pseudo-polite dialogue.

Peter stood against the wall, gripping the cuffs of his suit. In times like these, he was good as wall furnishings. There, but not part of it. A long time before, it had bothered him, before he learnt that he was in a unique - and incredibly desirable - position. And so he waited; and so he listened.

"I'm only here to see you about your agenda." Cora wouldn't oblige him for a seat, but stood rooted in front of the box of the piano. It only took a moment for her intentions to become clear. "Regina can handle more responsibility than you're giving her."

Gold sucked in his cheeks and he placed the bottle of polish down on the stool beside him, bumping a few keys as he moved. "Can she, now?"

Peter switched his glance to a corner, full of wood shavings and dust. Gold and Cora's inane conversations always wound on and on; sometimes there was something Peter could use in them. That time, so it seemed, there was nothing to be gleaned. Using Regina as a rope in their tug-of-war was one of the less imaginative means by which they battled. Lest the nuances in the conversation take an unprecedented twist, Peter knew he was wasting his time.

Sourly, Cora nodded. "You underestimate Regina's abilities. She's in a good position for us, with business and with the police. She can manage money as well as cover her own tracks. And yet you give her the barest minimum of her potential. Why is that, I wonder?"

Lifting himself up on his cane, Gold stood. He should have towered over Cora, but something about the woman's presence dwarfed him. Perhaps it was the way she stood - Peter would have to play with imitation later.

"I am fully aware of how much Regina can  _handle_." Gold said in a fruitless attempt to close the conversation.

Cora's chin jerked down, a façade displaying shock. Her eyes slid towards the back wall, and critical eyes scanned Peter from head to toe. He would have growled, given more freedom. But then Cora turned back to Gold as though nothing had happened. She had the last word, her gaze switching from Gold to hover on Peter for just a moment.

"I do believe you overestimate your judgement of character."

Gold's eyes flickered over to Peter then, slightest of scrutinies lying behind it. It was a farce; Gold was so desperate to have a son's love, the surrogacy was enough to keep it at bay. Still, the backhandedness prickled at Peter, set something to broil and churn in his stomach.

In the main room of the shop, the phone rang. It sounded twice before Gold waved his hand in Peter's general direction. Peter dipped out of the room. He picked up the phone from the receiver and then slammed it back down. Right on schedule. He returned to his dustrag with the added confidence that the Storybrooke sheriff's department was now under his influence, at least in part.

 

****  


 

**F** elix had an apartment downtown. It was one of the innumerable benefits to be had by cutting off his biological family and letting the Gold family become the only family he needed. He had his own place, his own furniture and an icebox. His window opened to an alleyway where he could hear all manners of jazz floating from the ground.

He could never repay Peter for the kindness in giving him a place in the family. That lazy summer evening at the beginning of Felix's perfect life. Peter had taken Felix out to the woods fringing their little city. He caught fireflies barely flickering in comparison to the brightness in his eyes. After the fireflies had grown passè, Peter had pulled Felix down beside him on the mossy ground. Felix's back had been soaked through the instant he laid down beside Peter, but he didn't bothered feeling the chill. Because that's when Peter started talking. When Peter told him how Baelfire ran away and how his Mum and Dad decided Peter was about the right size to fill in all the empty spaces his cousin left behind. How, at the end of it all, he'd be leading the Gold Family. How he was making a game of it.

And then, he changed Felix's life with one question: "Do you want to be a part of it?"

Felix hadn't had to inquire before he nodded, late-bloomer baby fat in his cheeks rippling with the movement.

"I'll talk to Gold. Just to make sure he knows it's official. Welcome to the family, Felix." Peter smiled, rolled over on his stomach, stained his cardigan and khakis with dew. "So does this mean we're brothers?"

Felix had beamed, one of his front teeth missing at the time. "Brothers."

And Peter had laughed, seizing Felix's hand and squeezing tight enough to bruise his knuckles.

It had been the first evening of the best part of Felix's life. And years later, he'd never question if his decision was the right one. The risks were worth having a ritzy place downtown. Worth having a semblance of independence, of freedom, of the chance to be someone. Worth more than anything to warm Peter on cold nights and know the taste lingering on Peter's skin, tanged and bitter from sweat. To feel Peter six inches inside him, rolling his back, groaning a sinful melody into his ear.

All it cost was a few lives. Some blood spatter when he hit too hard. A gun in his hand. A body count in the double digits. Some dancing around the rules set by Gold to adhere to the ones Peter modified. A small price for everything else.

Without the family - without  _Peter -_ he'd never be able to sit down and leaf through  _The Beautiful and the Damned._ He'd never have any luxury at all.

His eyes followed the prose, trying to bring himself to care about this beautiful and damned couple detailed so precariously before him.

Carding his hand through his hair, Felix pulled at the roots, to where it had been combed with Brilliantine to a more comfortable disarray. The family mandated a certain appearance. But within his own walls, listening to the wafting jazz from the alleyway, that could slip by.

His appreciation of the family, however, didn't dull his appreciation of the twilight hours where he could tangle his hair and read a book. Responsibility forgotten. A moment to think nothing of the hours he'd spent in the jail cell earlier that day, in signing the cheque to ensure Sheriff Humbert's compliance. He could pretend he had the chance to be young and carefree with nothing important on his mind.

 

 

**R** egina lived away from her mother in a grand white house with pillars, but it still seemed to carry that same wispy draft that so often accompanied Cora's voice. Peter refused to find it daunting, but he did catch himself eyeing the vents as he wandered up the hall and into her office.

Everything was coming along just as he'd planned. He had the next generation of familymen already lined up on his chessboard. He'd paid the sheriff to leave him be when it came to liquor and the less glamorous ends of business. The army was set and had reasonable protection. The next step: weaken the opposing side. And the most glaring weakness? Regina Mills.

Mother's favorite. The one who could never live up to her potential according to Cora's timeline. The one who didn't want the power or the family in the first place. The weakest link.

She skipped niceties when Peter slunk through the door. "What do you want?"

"Ah. Well, I thought I'd pop in to say hello." Peter said, leaned in on the fireplace and tapped on the oak lining the mantle.

Regina pursed her lips and muttered, "Shouldn't you be in the store?"

"It's closed for the day: Gold had to see a man about a dog." Peter shrugged lazily.

Regina narrowed her eyes and looked back at the papers on her desk. "I see."

"Don't be so judgmental now," Peter approached the desk and hoisted his hip up to sit on the shining finish. "It's half your livelihood. But then again I suppose you're bitter about that as well."

Regina's head snapped up, alarm clear on her face. "What are you trying to say?"

"Oh come on,  _Auntie_. Everyone's noticed."

Sucking in a breath, the woman smoothed her skirt and shuffled a stack of papers in front of her. "I'm busy and if you're only here to badger me-"

"Not badgering. I'm...having a conversation." Peter paused at the way Regina pursed her lips. "Those do tend to be easier with two participants."

The daggers in Regina's glare were enough to make Peter bite back a laugh.

"Oh, come on; do us a favor and be a good hostess. Do you really want me to come back home with a story I'd want to tell my mum?"

The woman sighed - an agitated growl broiling in the back of her throat. "Very well." She stood from the desk, gestured with an open palm to the semi-circle of armchairs around the fireplace. She took a momentary detour around, poured something amber-tinted into a bulbous glass and shoved it into Peter's hand when he came round.

Peter could have laughed; it wasn't too often a person engaged in his preconceived script verbatim. Instead, he cocked a brow and did his best to looked shocked. "Really? During the  _day_?"

Regina's frown slackened, a rough stare towards him before she fell into the chair across the room.

There was a brief uneasy silence before Peter lifted his head and asked, "Gone riding lately?"

"Unfortunately not. I haven't seen Rocinante in quite some time." The tight frown on her face seemed to harden around the same time her eyes seemed to flicker down to the floor. "But I have responsibilities I can't ignore."

"Shame." And to Regina's criticism, he added: "Your horse is all you care about, after all. I only mean to say you don't care about the family. Not that I blame you for it. Numbers and booze and people who only keep their lips sealed when there's enough money on a plate- and even then it can be bought for more. It's such a cheap way to live, isn't it? And there's no payoff either. Particularly when you don't like it well enough to learn how to do it  _well."_

Regina's head snapped up from where she'd been gazing into her hands. "I do the best I can!"

"Little consolation to the rest of us, though. Let's be fair, this is a game you aren't  _cut ou_ t to be playing."

"What's your point?" Regina stood, skirt swaying with her abrupt movements.

Peter shrugged, "I've got none. I'm only showing you what's transparent: you don't want this. Have your freedom; go off riding and have some quaint happy ending. It shows up in the quality of what you try to do. And if it's Cora's love you want - isn't it better to show off what you actually have an aptitude for?"

"You can't just leave the family."

"Baelfire did it." Peter returned. "Why can't you?

And for once, Regina was silent.

"And besides," Peter elaborated further. "I'm not suggesting you try to leave without a word at midnight and assume you'll make it out alive. All you have to do, if you think about it, is tell Cora you're ready for your own life. Don't cut the family off completely -" Peter leaned forward in the chair, balancing his elbows on his knees. "That's what gets us killed. But if you relocate, you might still have a happy ending yet."

Seeing his own words rotating in his aunt's skull, Peter could smell the effect of the conversation. Slashing it off his checklist, he stood.

"Ah. I think I've overstayed my welcome. I'd hate to make Sunday dinner awkward. I'll show myself out." He adjusted his waistcoat and headed towards the door. He spared a glance to see Regina lose herself in thought. Her knuckle pressing into her chin and distressed frown stitched on her face.

"Have fun balancing the inventories." If for nothing other than emphasis, Peter stopped with his hand on the door. "Though, I'm not sure _fun_ is really an option."

 

 

**P** eter realized, round a week later, that the polished hallways and pristine chambers of Regina's house seemed no different to Peter whether in company or alone. It still carried a sort of grandeur that edged towards overcompensation but never quite made it there. The vents still threatened to exhale Cora, but since she was on the expected guest list, Peter could only figure it made sense.

"Regina, sis, I couldn't help but notice you answered the door yourself." Zelena spoke as their hostess led them into the receiving room. "And I'd so hate to hear of any financial hardships that forced you to be rid of your butler."

Regina rolled her eyes with such pronunciation, Peter found himself sneezing into his pocket kerchief to mask his scoff. "I prefer to invest in things that won't steal my china."

Malcolm snickered under his breath, covering the elbow in his side as little more than a slip in his breath.

Zelena rolled her eyes, taking a seat on the plush sofa, muttering, "How  _feminist_ of you."

Regina apparently didn't follow her sister's segue, judging by the irony in her tone when she mumbled "Right" and stood before the bar at the far end of the receiving room. "What will you all have for drinks?"

Peter had to pause - it seemed unlike Regina to let her sister's comments slide. Their little conversation earlier in the week had left more of an impression than he'd intended. Interesting.

Malcolm piped up almost immediately. "Whiskey. Imported, if you've got it. But the white stuff Peter's friends make works just as well."

The look in Regina's face seemed to say  _As though I'd ever allow that into my house_ but she nodded and poured from the crystal bottle.

Zelena's order came next, "Champagne."

"I don't keep champagne in my receiving room." Regina replied, voice dry and mind elsewhere.

It looked as though Zelena was counting to ten to stomach this disappointment even as her own ego soared at the admission. "Gin, then. Make it a rickey."

Peter hid his smirk as Regina rolled her eyes. When she came by the sofas to give her sister and brother-in-law their beverages, he coughed, "I'll have a muscat."

"That's a little sweet, don't you think?" Zelena asked over her own glass as she reached to fix Peter's tie. "You'll spoil your appetite."

"I'm fine, Mum." Peter muttered, turning his body away from Zelena, lest she spend the rest of the evening fumbling with his tie.

With two identical glasses in hand, Regina extended one to Peter and kept the other for herself.

The wine felt like thin icing seeping down Peter's throat. Still, one of the finer subtleties in convincing someone you're on their side was agreeing with them. He had to drink it slow, much slower than he was able to down the white whiskey in the speakeasies. To take it faster might prompt an indelicate incident, and that's not something to be had at dinner with the Millses.

By the time Cora arrived, dinner was ready. The meal consisted of roast duck and elegant side dishes ranging from the delicate to the hardy.

The conversation was less than thrilling. A backhanded comment from Cora in how the company wouldn't make for good business talk, pointed glare aimed at Malcolm all the while. Vapid gossiping, while it could have filled the spaces, was not quite the style of the three women involved. And so conversation remained at a standstill.

At least until Regina broke the uncomfortable silence. "Mother, I've-I've been thinking."

Dinner, in its entirety, stopped in its tracks. Even Peter froze. _She's doing this here? Now?_

"What is it, Regina?" Cora asked.

"The owner of the ranch where we keep Rocinante is selling. I want to buy it."

Cora stopped, fork and knife morphing into an extension of her own fingers. "And why would you want to do that? Haven't we given you enough to keep you busy here?"

"Mother, I don't want to be busy here. I want to live my own life. This one...it's cheap to me. Numbers and liquor and people who you can buy secrets from. What kind of way to live is that?"

"You may not like it now, but you'll learn." Cora did not look up from cutting her duck. "Without you, who will there be to run our family's business?"

Zelena choked on her drink. "Mother, I could always take up some of Regina's duties."

Cora's gaze slid over to her eldest, silencing her with an imaginary muzzle.

"Let Zelena do something for our family," Regina said, her older sister blinking in confusion at the admission. "I won't leave, really, I just won't be  _here_. I'm ready for my own life, Mother, and I'll still help the family where I can, but I want my freedom."

"Freedom comes with the family, my dear." Cora said. "Your sister realizes that and all it took was a marriage." She turned her head to Zelena: "You are secure. And while ambition is admirable - I can't let you take your sister's place in business. Where would it leave her?"

"It would leave me to lead a life I desire." Regina interjected again. "If we're going to be fair, this is a game I'm not cut out to be playing."

Peter could've sworn he saw Cora's expression, for just a fraction of a moment, aimed at him, vying to leave frostbite on his bones.

"We should take our conversation to the receiving room," Cora announced without warning. "I've grown tired of inhaling duck. Regina, lead the way. Peter, remain seated."

An odd command, and one Peter could one day refuse; and while he reveled in the fact it didn't mean he could miscalculate in the moment. He sat, waiting for the sisters to stand and exit the room with Malcolm swaying behind them.

After they disappeared, he turned to the woman across the table. "Interesting, this. Don't think we've ever had a decent grandmother-grandson chat before. Why do you think is that?"

"You have no idea what you have just done to yourself." Cora said, floating away from her chair and towards Peter. "And I'm certain you'll understand you did bring this upon yourself."

Peter sucked in a breath and leaned in on the table, rudely balancing on one elbow. "If you're trying to intimidate me, you're going to have to be more forward."

"My dear boy,  _forward_  is just what I expect from you. But unfortunately it's exactly that which brought you to my attention." She watched carefully as Peter ran his fingers on the smooth wood of the table, using his nonchalance to buffer the acid in her words.

"I merely told her what's been on her mind all along," Peter shrugged. "I don't think there ought to be blame there, do you?"

"Did you really think you could persuade Regina to leave so easily? You almost tricked me, I can give you that. Until Regina elaborated, I couldn't tell what came over her. But they were so obviously not her words and so obviously yours, it hardly took a deduction.  _A game she's not cut out to be playing_. You should have veiled yourself."

Cora's mouth was a thin line, her gaze icy as a winter wind. "I know what you do. You talk with grandeur and convince people to follow an ill-conceived dream the world around them cannot offer. But you're young and your techniques are obvious."

"But they work."

"They work because I have been letting you slip by. I know you think you're invincible, but the fact of the matter is that simply isn't true."

Peter smirked, toying with the idea of another person intending to make a pawn of him. He cocked a brow, and slid off the dining chair. "It's a shame you had to get old; I figure I might have been intimidated by you along time ago. Then again, your ideals are rather…unimaginative, boring. Bland. Can't have that, now can we?"

He took a long sigh, noted his grandmother's eyes on the rug and figuring he'd won, muttered a Good Night dripping in irony and began to stride towards the door.

Cora's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"Gold grants you an inordinate amount of clemency. Would that, I wonder, extend to sodomy?"

Peter flipped over his feet. He refused to speak, drew his brows down, stared.

Cora's lips twisted up at the unasked question. "You aren't as careful as you think you are."

"Indulge me." Peter asked on a breath, leaning on one hip and waiting for Cora's elaboration.

"It would take a fool not to realize - if only they began looking. You and your tall boy, always beside each other. Slipping away early. Leaving each other's rooms in the morning. Don't you think that's enough evidence to prompt the family to look into it?"

Peter growled, low in his throat but adjusted his voice. He refused to snarl in animalism with the older woman's poisoned decorum as his adversary. "I wouldn't trust Gold to adhere to the usual rules."

"If you believe that, tell him yourself." She waited, saw the tick in her grandson's face. "Even you would know his unconditional love is reserved for his son. And you're an ill excuse for a replacement."

"And yet I'm about to own the world. No. You want to know what I see,  _Nan_? You're intimidated by my success - jealous I've got double the aptitude of either your daughters and twice the ambition. I'm about to succeed where you've failed. And you can't have that. Not unless it's your favorite daughter with all the power. I threw a wrench in your plans."

Cora stared at him, even and cool. Sensing he'd finished, she shook her head, skidding her stare just shy of patronizing. "You're overlooking one big detail."

Peter dared to roll his eyes. "And what, may I ask, would that be?"

"When they learn of your deviancy, they will kill you. And your boy. You won't get the chance to explain yourself. And I will only benefit from this - my daughters will both get the power you'll leave behind."

"But you haven't done it yet."

"No. And I won't, provided you start toeing the line. Behave yourself and return to playing good son with Gold."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "This is bigger than you - bigger than Gold. I'd step down and accept your fate, Cora. You're past your prime. You failed, and Regina can't become you, no matter how much you want it. Step down yourself. And remember, I can damn you just as quick as you can damn me."

"I know you can pull a better bluff. I would think about what you're saying before you make an enemy of me. Don't be stupid, boy."

And with her words, she left the room. Her slow steps barely punctuated on the veneer of the floor. If not for the noise, Peter could've sworn she slithered away.

 

 

**F** elix made his living bumping off familymen. Nothing disturbing or special about it. His role was to pull the trigger - sometimes on people he knew and sometimes on strangers. It didn't matter - it was Gold's business. And although Felix's preoccupation was with Peter, it was not a conflict of interest to take others out on Gold's behalf.

So, why did his throat feel dry as he drove the truck to the town over with Sean Herman in tow?

He could guess why, but he had no reason to feel  _anything_ different about this one. Sean Herman had gotten caught, simple as that. He was seen one too many times leaving Phillip Prince's house. Seen looking too affectionately. Seen leaving empty rooms and closets in the speakeasies. He wasn't careful, and Felix was to deliver his fate for him.

Felix knew that he would never end up in this particularly compromising position. Peter ensured it. But some subdued solidarity hid under it all. He drove on, ignoring the white nose as Herman prattled on about the aspects of his life he could advertise - work, his wife, his baby. Nothing of interest to Felix whatsoever.

At least until they arrived at the docks in the adjoining town. Felix pulled out his gun and cocked it, aimed right between Sean Herman's eyes.

Terrified and gripping his composure, Sean Herman held his hands in front of himself, palms out. "What for?"

Felix wasn't usually slow on business, but due to the specific nature of this trip, he thought, Why not?

"There's more than one reason I have to kill you?"

Sean's lip quivered. "I just want to make sure you have your facts straight before you leave my daughter fatherless."

A gallant attempt, but there was no mercy in family matters.

"Please, Felix," He continued, voice crackling all over the place. "Think of Ashley and Alexandra. My family. They need me."

"You should have considered that before you got caught necking with Phillip Prince in the Rabbit Hole."

All color drained from the man's face; handsome to pallid in seconds. "Please, Felix. Don't do this. I love my family; I love Phillip's family. I-I love...Have some empathy-"

Felix's eyes flashed molten silver. "Empathy?"

"S-sympathy." Sean recovered with a stammer. "Please."

Felix took a deep breath, begging seemed heinous and time wasting, attempts to sway his resolve were offensive enough. But that slip, that twist of words trying to appeal to his humanity - or worse, his experiences, was the last thing Felix was willing to hear.

And so, without preface, he tightened the grip on his gun and finished it. It took less than a minute to roll Sean's body off the dock. Less than two buckets of seawater to wash away the blood. Less than three miles behind him in the car until Felix pushed the sour taste of bile from where it burned in his throat back into his gut where it belonged.

He would never admit the way he had to repeat it to himself. The situations weren't the same. Felix had nothing to lose, and even if he did, it wouldn't matter because no one would ever find out, Peter ensured it.

Felix figured if he repeated it enough times on the drive back, the sliver of sacrilege, of doubt or fear, climbing up his brainstem might just go away.

But, hours later, and it didn't.

He'd never been strung up after a hit before. When it could have been shocking, when he was just starting, Peter had always been there to twist the scenario, make it something thrilling. Without Peter there, every other hit was always an anticlimax. No thrill, no devastation, just a task to accomplish.

Then  _why_ was he shaking? It was nothing - a twist of words gone wrong, nothing implied there. There was nothing unique about it, Felix was sure. He was getting carried away. And so, he did his best to return to stasis. Make some tea. Have supper. Read his book.

Have a normal night almost twenty-four hours after this incredibly abnormal hit.

He'd only just started the newest chapter when a very particular knock came to the door. One slow on the palm, two quick on the knuckles, pause, two more quick with the wrist. Only one person knew the code.

_Peter._

Felix stood, book clamored on the floor - the page lost as it hit the rug. He unchained the door and threw it open without missing a beat to usher his closest friend in.

Peter leaned with a shoulder heavy on the doorframe, silver pocket watch in his hand. His eyes flickered up to meet Felix's, and the taller boy's heart stammered, minute smile sliding on his lips. "You took your time," Peter said, lifting his head and buoying up to his own feet. "Got some moll in there you had to shove out the window?"

Felix's gaze scorched, prompting a sudden laugh from Peter.

"Invite me in." Peter cooed in response, his eyes flickering up and down Felix. There was a tick in his face and a shallowness of his breath as he meandered in through the doorway.

He kicked the door shut, nails raking up Felix's chest. A tremor functioned as a tell, an anxious tick to his brow, and Felix caught his wrist in hand.

"Peter? What is it?"

"Nothing I can't solve." Peter brought his wrist, encased in Felix's hand, up to his mouth. His tongue met Felix's knuckles, lips pulled away, wry and secretive.

And Felix threw Peter's hand down. He intended to instigate, but he could never move fast enough. Peter had a hand on the underside of Felix's chin, the other flung around his neck. His tongue slid against Felix's lip, a spark sliding up and down his backbone. Hands broke in under his waistband, warm skin under the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Felix knew something lingered on Peter's mind. Something in the sudden way he moved, his jostling movements, the steel flickers in his eyes gave it away. But he would make it known soon enough, well enough, but if Peter wanted physicality that's what Felix would give. Willingly, adoringly.

He owed the world to Peter. The boy, the beautiful boy searching under his clothes for distraction or happiness or ownership of somebody. Felix could only sigh as the warm fingers clutched at him.

They slammed against the wood of the door. Peter's arms braced on Felix's shoulders. His rhythmic thumbs rubbed circles on the sharp bones protruding on Felix's collar. He sucked kiss after kiss from his mouth.

"So," He murmured into Felix's teeth, kissing hot and wet into the juncture between his lips. "Do you want to know what happened?"

Felix slurred out a yes, distracted by Peter's tongue and his hot, firm cock pressing into Felix's thigh.

"How much do you want to know?" Peter asked, breathy. His eyes slid shut and pointed his chin up to the ceiling. He keened into the press of Felix's devout mouth licking a prayer against the column of his throat. "Enough to make me? If you can."

They spun out away from the door, clinging to each other and parting only long enough to strip the other down. The freedom of Felix's apartment meant they didn't need to bother shutting the door. There was still the slightest trace of rebellion letting air waft between rooms while they were together. Because of that, Peter pulled Felix away when he went to shut it by habit.

Falling on the mattress was the easy part, with the high center of gravity and added weight of Peter hoisted up on Felix's hips. But Peter would never let gravity do the work. He caged Felix in with his arms and legs and arched his back, exhausted voice lost in the air but blaring in Felix's ear, "Impress me."

If Felix hadn't already had an inkling there was something amiss, he would have known for certain at that point. With the way Peter reacted to everything one hundred fold, things couldn't have been fine. He was gorgeous, planes of his body sharp and shining, lithe limbs and heavy breaths. But the exaggeration in his movements, in his sighs, pulled Felix. Peter was a boy who had to have control at all times, always meticulous in the way he maneuvered himself. Felix always fell apart, not Peter.

And Peter's sudden need to send himself spiraling was something Felix hadn't thought possible.

Heat pulling in the pit of his stomach, Felix torn between two possibilities. Act according to the way Peter plucked at his strings. Or have a bit of integrity and find out what was wrong with him.

Peter always had a way of reading his mind. Twisting on Felix's fingers, Peter let out a low mewl and tightened his legs around Felix's ribs. "How long d'you think we can keep this up? Another year? Ten? Forever?"

Felix huffed at the words, wondering why Peter never could bring himself to be straightforward. Why he always opted for riddles and games. He flattened his free hand under Peter's head, tipped his skull down. Resting his forehead on Peter's breastplate, he muttered, "Forever."

"And how." Peter grinned in reply. A flurry of limbs and Peter somehow lifted himself from Felix's grip and flipped them around. Felix spread out on the blankets and Peter straddling his quivering stomach. He always had speed on his side- moving at a near-supernatural pace. It always left Felix seeing stars. "But, I wonder, what'll you do for insurance? To be sure that we can go on - you and I - just like this?"

And so Peter showed his hand, but to what end Felix couldn't guess. But if he continued to play along, Peter would tell him when the time came. He always did, it was a matter of being patient until Peter decided to let him in on what mysterious things were brewing in his mind.

He revealed them, of course, at the end. After Felix teetered off the line of consciousness. Warm and shivering and hazy and fucking ecstatic. Peter pulled back the rest of the curtain and threw him awake with words cold and shocking as ice.

"Cora knows."

It felt, to Felix, like the world disintegrated around him. "What do you mean?"

"I thought that'd be obvious - Cora's aware of us, the particular nature of our relationship. She intends to let it slip if I don't...comply."

Some sort of anvil dropped on Felix, crushed his ribs, his skull, his back. The threat was too fresh in his mind from Sean Herman and others whose names and faces were lost in the bays and forests nearby. It had always been risks, risks and challenges and hide-and-seek. But, with Peter tousled and undone, admitting their dilemma with a cross frown on his face, the danger became visceral.

If Felix couldn't get out if it, and he was nowhere near clever enough to do so, Peter could.

"Say it was me," Felix said a beat later.

"What?"

"If we tell them it's my fault - I made you, you won't be at fault. If I'm the... _criminal_ , and you aren't, they can only ruin me."

For a moment, Peter seemed to consider it. But in the next, he wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "That might work for the law - but the family would know you're not so persuasive. Particularly not against me."

Felix sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his brow on his hand. "There has to be something."

"Look at you," Peter muttered, hoisting himself up on his knees beside his friend, one brow cocked and his head tilted. "You're all wet. I never thought I'd see the day where you doubted me."

Snapping his head to Peter, Felix dared to allow his lips to turn up. "You have a plan."

"How could you ever expect anything less?"

Felix's smile grew broader. A sigh edged on relief puffed up through his chest and he conceded. "What's the first step?"

Peter leaned in once more, eyes gleaming, satisfied with Felix's unquestioning agreement. "We find my cousin."


	4. Chapter 4

**I** n theory, it was simple. Locate Baelfire. Leave Storybrooke under some ruse that would get him out and unquestioned for some time. Convince Baelfire to follow him back to Storybrooke.

Once the prodigal son returned, Peter figured, that would be enough to upset Cora's power dynamic. Peter wouldn't be her problem anymore - Baelfire would be. Gold would undoubtedly demote his nephew in favor of making his own flesh and blood his heir. It would distract Cora long enough for Peter to find something to hold over her head. The woman was good at covering her past, but there were always bodies in the closet. It was impossible to be in the family without them. (Perhaps the fact Peter's own mother was certainly not the daughter of the late Henry Mills would be enough.)

Peter just had to buy time till he could find something to use for ammunition. He'd find it eventually - and riling up the waters would be a decoy and distraction until he could find a way to gain the advantage.

And in the meantime, he had his schematic. Felix was to locate Baelfire - pay off the Lucases in exchange for the information they required. It was up to Peter to request leave from the family for however long they'd need.

Easy, it would seem, as picking up the newspaper.

Gold was up front, balancing the cash register when Peter entered, staring at an article in the paper. "Looks like there's going to be a big picture show," Peter muttered upon stepping behind the counter. "On the sixth of October, in New York."

"They have those all the time. Here in Storybrooke as well." Gold barely looked up.

"Well, yes." Peter admitted, keeping his tone light and making sure not to suggest any sort of rehearsal in his phrases. "But, sir, according to the papers, they'll be  _talking_ in these. Real voices. I'd love to get the chance - see the big city and a talking picture show." He sighed. "Though I suppose I shouldn't hope for anything."

Gold did not speak, but closed the register and wiped a fleck of dust from a key before finally looking towards his prodige, still staring at the article inked in front of him.

Peter continued. "Besides, my father would never allow it. He never wants me to learn about culture or technology or the world. Not a very good father, as it turns out." He allowed his laments to fill the air of the shop before he slammed the newspaper down on the countertop and shuffled off to polish a chair on the other end of the store.

By lunch, Peter was excused from his work in the shop and, transitively, from his family obligations for the week of October sixth. Gold even agreed to give him his cheque from working in the store before he left.

Peter had to admit, he'd miss taking advantage of the man once it was all said and done.

 

 

**F** elix didn't have as much ease in locating Baelfire. He knew Anita Lucas, with her rock solid resolve, would be more difficult to persuade and harder to get alone. So he found Ruby as she was scrubbing the bar at the Rabbit Hole.

She was cheerful as anything when he sat down in front of her,.

"How's it going, Felix?" She grinned and tossed her head, maybe getting used to her haircut, maybe because she was always better paid when patrons saw her neck, maybe something else; Felix didn't know. "You working tonight?"

He shook his head and it seemed, just a little, like some of Ruby's cheer faded. Felix looked over the bar, recounted time and time again standing on the opposite end with her, trying to come up with some sort of shandy to mask the moonshine. Failing every time. Glimpses of their lives away from the Rabbit Hole that became a puzzle that each of them tried to solve before the other.

And now Felix was here purely on business.

Times like those made Felix crave Peter's company more. Peter would've known what to do, exactly what to say, and not get all balled up and nervous. But Peter wasn't around at that moment. Felix had to do this himself - and he had to do it right, or he'd join Sean Herman at the bottom of the Atlantic.

"Are you okay?" Ruby asked, placing the glass in front of him. "You look…" She sighed, crooked look on her face. "Different."

Felix might have imagined it, but there was the tiniest hint of sadness in her voice. As though she knew that for some people trapped in this webs spun by crime families like the Golds and Millses. Felix looked around to dictate his approach. The bar was mostly empty, save for him and a few straggling patrons. Town drunk, Leroy, slumped at one end of the bar, lost in his mason jar of moonshine. Tootles was up on the stage, warming his fingers up on the keys - playing  _Clair de Lune_ funnily enough. Classics always sounded funnier on a jazz piano. The rest of the band hadn't arrived yet, so Felix figured it's the only time he - good old Tom Oddy - got to practice. It was still early; Ruby had a crowbar in hand and a crate on a stool, trying to crack open the liquor smuggled in for the night.

If there was a time to get something out of this, it would have been then.

And so, Felix cleared his throat. "Do you need help setting up?"

"Thought you weren't working."

"I'm not."

Ruby put the crowbar in his hands the second he closed the half-door by the side of the bar behind him. "You can open the crate and get the bottles out," She said, wiping down glasses with a thin rag and rinsing them in the little copper sink shoved into the corner.

Felix nodded and set to work, breaking the wood open with relative ease and obliging with the rest of his duties.

It was quiet enough to chat. Felix was busy mulling over multiple ways conversations could go, trying to use Peter's methods, when Ruby proffered one herself.

"Nice of you to help me set up. Careful, though, people might think you're sweet on me," She laughed, almost entirely unaware of the way Felix reduced himself to blinking as he became more and more aware that she was right about one thing. Things did spread fast in a place like Storybrooke.

The thought made his heart sink.

Sean Herman had said  _empathy._

The room sunk into silence for a beat, nothing more to offer the conversation. Even Tootles had taken a break from the piano to turn the page in his libretto. A few moments more and a chilly sonata wafted on the air. From his slumped position, Leroy mumbled something about 'atmosphere' and hoisted himself off his chair and down the hall, to relieve himself, or to get away from the odd civilized music reverberating inside the liquor-haven.

Usually Felix would have been thankful for the silence. But he had an agenda. Had to bring up Baelfire in a way that seemed natural, as per Peter's usual tactics.

Upon Leroy's absence and the shift in music, Felix found himself quite surprised in his ease with sitting in silence with Ruby. He was so used to the bustle of the Rabbit Hole, it introduced something unfamiliar in the air.

And she never pushed a conversation beyond that, odd as it seemed. A degree of coarseness was expected in their interactions, (Felix knew her mother and grandmother - had been their adversary for the family several times) but something softer was there too. Something in-between the jaded scruff from the elder women in her life and the softness lingering from childhood.

Felix didn't know how she managed, not in a place like the Rabbit Hole, in a town like Storybrooke.

Not that he'd ever admit it, but it almost made him reluctant when he finished sorting the bottles and turned towards her. It was business, all business, and Felix couldn't afford to take anything personally. And so, he sighed. "I didn't come here to help you unload liquor. I'm here because of Peter."

Ruby immediately stiffened. It was as though something entirely new had come over her, some sort of defensive veil, an almost  _canine_ curl to her lip.

"Oh" was all she said. With no elaboration beyond that, Felix deemed it suitable to continue.

"I need information on the whereabouts of Baelfire Gold."

Ruby seemed shocked for a moment, her eyes widened, and then she swiped the rag along the waxy finish of the bar one more time, "I'm done here at three in the morning. Come to the window at the side of Granny's house at 3:30."

When the time came, Felix arrived at Widow Lucas's house, envelope of cash in his hand. He rapped at the window with the same knock used for admittance into the Rabbit Hole, and the shutters opened on a breeze that smelled like the white lightning Ruby had been serving the whole night. "Climb in."

Felix lifted himself up on the root of a bush and clambered through the sill. A flowerpot scuffed along the pane as he entered, but it was otherwise a semi-graceful descent.

Though, it was funny, how climbing in a woman's window with the night sky inky black and every decent person in town under a duvet was void of all anxiety. He was used to climbing in strange places, in sealing doors behind him - but that always came with a healthy fear and zealous trepidation.

He supposed there was enough reason for fear but that time, standing in Widow Lucas's kitchen across from Ruby - with smeared makeup and partially unzipped dress - there was nothing. He knew they were exchanging information Gold would murder him for hiding. For selling. His life was on the line again, but he was hardly nervous. The information would warrant a quicker death; he figured that was why.

Or maybe not. It wasn't an exact science, not with the Gold family.

Ruby held a leather folder across her chest, white knuckles contrasting against the thick brown.

Felix slid the envelope full of dough over and to his surprise, Ruby seemed to hold the folder tighter.

"If you don't trust me with this, I'm sure you can find a way to get me in trouble." Felix drawled his response. "Truthfully or fabricated. It won't be hard to blame me for things. But I ensure you, we aren't trying to get anything from you. If we were, I'm sure Peter would rather come to you himself."

She laughed, just a little. It was a surprise to Felix but he didn't pay much mind further as he slid the envelope across the table and Ruby placed the folder in front of him as though it were a fine meal and she were waiting on him.

"It's all there," She said, unsurprised when Felix untied the fastenings to leaf through the pages.

Her words seemed to correspond to the papers before him: "He's changed his name to Neal Cassidy. He lives in Tallahassee with his...wife. Honorary title - they don't have the papers. And his son. Five years old, just started school. Good kid. Neal's gotten out of some sticky situations - he did a lot of thievery for a while. But he's got his life on track. He's happy." Ruby stopped, reached out to clasp a hand on Felix's arm. "Don't drag him back into this."

"It's out of my hands." Felix didn't know why he spoke up - or why he justified himself to her at all.

"I guess it always is." Ruby nodded. She seemed sad at first. But then she stiffened, stood at her full height. "One more thing."

It was around this time Felix noticed she was around the same height as Peter.

Felix nodded to her request, shaking the realization from his mind. "What?"

He was surprised when Ruby slid the envelope back to him.

"Ashley Herman. Her husband just went missing. The only thing she could do is be a maid - or move back in with her stepfamily."

Felix swallowed heavily, refused to let his throat run dry. "And?"

"Give it to her. She needs it."

Felix nodded, minute delay, minute tremor in his chest. He left the kitchen without another word, slipping in the bushes outside the window and wondering why on  _earth_ this one insignificant hit just wouldn't let him go.

 

 

**T** hey left Storybrooke on the fourth of October. They were to be back in town by the eighth. It was a small window of time, but Peter had no doubt he could manage.

Nevertheless, he was fairly eager to leave, shoved his suitcase into the backseat of Felix's car and adjusted his travel cap. He made his good-byes while Felix waited behind the wheel. The last thing he wanted was sentimentality, but rules were rules.

Zelena came to him first, giving her son a light embrace. As expected, she then began to adjust his tie. "Make sure you see some  _live_ shows while you're in the city. Get some culture on you. I expect stories when you come home."

Peter nodded, certain he could fabricate something but a little irritated with the added responsibility.

Zelena grabbed Malcolm's arm then, shoving him in front of their son. He loafed for a moment, stood there unsure. But then he scratched the back of his neck. "I suppose you'll need some spending money…"

Peter shook his head. "Gold's got me taken care of."

"Oh! Excellent then. I don't have to waste my hard-earned-"

Zelena's elbow met Malcolm's ribs. " _Give him some money, Malcolm."_

The old man rolled his eyes but obeyed his wife, pulled a few bills from his wallet and shoved it into his son's coat pocket. "If I were you, Peter," He said as means of farewell, "I'd skip the show tunes and check out the liquor joints in the big city-"

" _Oh for God's sake Malcolm!"_ Zelena hissed, turning on her heels and marching harshly up to the house. "The things you're teaching him - if someone heard you!"

Malcolm giggled at his wife's outburst. Under his breath he added, "Just buy her something pretty from Tiffany's and she won't even bother asking about the shows you don't go to see."

"I don't think that's very sound advice," Gold said, firm and stoic from behind his brother. "But unsurprising considering how you treat your wife."

"But I've still got mine," Malcolm said - far too cheerily until the ice in Gold's gaze broke through. Then, the man coughed, and excused himself, muttering, "And I should probably go and see her now."

Once Malcolm had cleared the way, Peter looked over to the car to see Felix leaning on his knuckles. He could have laughed at his friends obvious boredom. He'd try to make this quick.

Clasping Gold's hand firmly, Peter made sure he grinned warmly. An odd feeling on his lips. "You have no idea how important this trip is to me."

The funny thing was, Peter thought, that for almost the first time since joining the family in his youth, Peter was actually telling the truth to his boss.

Fancy that.

He tried not to let his lip curl when he let go of the don's fingers, adding in the customary nicety, and ruining his sincerity in one go.

"Thank you, sir."

Peter held the map in front of him after they rolled off the street. "We'll be able to catch the train in a few hours if we step on it."

They weren't even out of town before Peter felt the car stop and, if Felix were more prone to irony, he might have thought it a sort of bad joke. Instead, Peter looked up. It was nothing remarkable, a stop sign and a young family of three shuffling over the crosswalk.

What made it remarkable, however, was the look on Felix's face.

"What is it?" Peter asked, lowering the map in favor of looking around to see what might be wrong.

"That's...that's Phillip Prince." Felix mumbled, eyes wide and more confused than Peter was used to seeing.

Peter looked over to the crosswalk - and sure enough - there was the man, tired red eyes as though he hadn't slept in the past few days, with his pretty wife beside him - dark circles there too, as though in grief, pushing the pram in front of her.

"So it is."

Felix blinked. "They made me bump off Sean Herman for being with him. Why is Phillip walking free?"

"I suppose he's still important to the family." Peter shrugged, preoccupying himself with the maps once more. "Felix, it doesn't  _matter_ does it? Stay focused on what we're doing, yeah? Come on, the walkway's clear. Just -  _go."_

Felix was never a talkative boy. Peter usually liked that about him. But after four hours in a car and three in a train, tucked away into a private compartment, it seemed a bit excessive to curl up for bed on the booth without a single word, even for Felix.

"You know," Peter said once it had gotten to be too much. "I could go and get Baelfire on my own. I brought you along for  _company_."

Felix sighed. "I'm thinking."

"A lot, I'd wager." Peter mumbled, lying down across from Felix on the booth. "Still caught up about Phillip Prince, then, are you?"

Just for once, Felix would want Peter to be  _wrong_ about what was on his mind. But, nevertheless, he nodded.

"As soon as he's done being valuable to the family, for whatever reason, you'll put a bullet in his brain. It's simple and unimportant." Peter tongued the inside of his cheek. "But why you're so caught up in this, that's the interesting bit-"

"They were both married." Felix mumbled from his back, eyes on the quivering chandelier in the ceiling.

Peter sat up. Off his guard for just a moment. Some sort of unwelcome novelty in Felix not hanging off his words.

Felix continued: "They were both married - they both had families. That must be why it took so long for the family to find out…"

"Lot of good it did Sean Herman in the end."

"It's still doing Phillip some good-"

"That is  _not_ the reason."

"But it could be part of it," Felix stopped, turned his head to look at the stormy expression in his friend's face. "I think it's a smart idea. An extra precaution."

"That wouldn't stop anyone from accusing us if Cora-"

"But what about later on?" Felix held his breath. "After Baelfire's back - after we finish Cora off. It could happen again. And this could be insurance."

Peter snapped up, sitting up at the edge of his seat. If they weren't on a public train, if they were tucked away and behind a locked door, Felix knew he'd reach out and touch him, kiss him and let eroticism punctuate his words and make Felix's fade away. It was Peter's quickest method to get Felix to see things his way.

But, on a train where anyone could walk in, Peter had words and words alone. His favorite weapon, but he lacked the poison to make it stick - to drive his point home. Of course, that never meant Peter wouldn't try. "We won't need insurance. I'll be untouchable by that point. And not even a figurehead. With Baelfire in place, I'll be able to do everything I want - and I won't even have to stand and look pretty or be a figure. We'll be even better off once this is said and done - we don't need  _insurance."_

"Yes, Peter." Felix's voice was heavy enough to make Peter's eyes flash.

" _What_?" Peter snapped. The chandelier above them in the compartment shook with the train's movement. And as the shadows shifted around the compartment, his expression changed. "Hang on. You're  _disappointed_. You've given this some thought. You've...you've got some girl in  _mind."_ He turned from derisive to venomous in a second. His eyes dipped up and down Felix's face taking in each individual tick. Shadows cast over his face and somehow stayed there. It flared up and Felix half expected a gun to materialize in Peter's hand then and there. Instead, it subsided. Peter staring him down to the bone.

When Felix grew enough of a spine to look at him again, he could see Peter's mind swarming. His eyes fixated on a bolt in the window, very likely scanning through every dollie they knew, and trying to figure out how he could have missed this.

As for Felix, Peter might as well have shot him down then and there

It wasn't a betrayal, but Peter seemed to think it was. That was almost as bad as facing it in reality. All Felix wanted was insurance of his own. A speck of autonomy. Just something he could do to keep himself and Peter out of the line of fire - to deter anyone from trying to threaten them again.

Peter always found a way to be right. Although Felix hadn't specifically thought of someone, hadn't attached a name to his idea, Peter seemed to think that's what he was getting at. To a degree, perhaps standing in a kitchen with Ruby after dark had been more dangerous than he thought.

But it wasn't infidelity. He'd only been  _thinking._ He'd only been mulling over ways that he could make sure he and Peter could keep on living the way they've been - continue to see each other and live in this everlasting climax - forever. Just like Peter said he'd wanted.

He hadn't meant for Peter to take it so badly.

But they were in public, so there was nothing he could do.

They had to change trains in West Virginia. Felix made a point to apologize. Found an empty coat closet and took in Peter's exhales as oxygen, bit his lip and tried not to act broken-hearted when Peter pushed away.

"For someone so adamant about not getting caught you seem awfully keen."

Once they'd gotten through Alabama and into Florida's sticky heat, they found a motel. As far as the family knew, they were in New York. But that didn't mean making a scene couldn't cause their demise anyhow. So precautions were made: fake names at registration, stolen money to pay for it all, and blinds and shutters closed.

It seemed like it had been forever since Peter had been on his feet, and his back creaked with his movements courtesy of sitting crammed in a tiny compartment. But that was the minor complaint. The grating bit, to Peter, was Felix's gall in the train.

He'd always been an overly cautious boy, always looking over his own shoulder and making sure they stuffed socks and ties into keyholes. Always checking to make sure no one was around, always with an edge of ice when Peter didn't make it clear  _why_ his worries were not necessary,  _how_ he'd insured them.

And that was probably why Felix's mind had started moving and how he'd come to the moronic conclusion he did.

It was utterly pointless and Peter could have sworn he saw red.

Taking in wives to deter suspicion was something only the less clever had to do. People who didn't have the intelligence to cover their tracks or hide their expressions. People who didn't think ahead and let themselves get swept up in petty, frivolous exchanges with nothing but "My wife doesn't treat me well" and "I know I shouldn't love you, God have Mercy" whispered between liaisons.

It was for people who didn't care about substance or artistry.

Why couldn't Felix see that?

And, more to the point, taking a wife changed the dynamic between friends. And that was something Peter wouldn't bend on; he was utterly unwilling to compromise.

If a man marries, no matter if the reason is to cover the taste of salt in his mouth or not, his priorities change. With a boy or without one, a man's loyalties would spread thin. There's family matters, and then a wife, and then any brats who emerge from the union, and then the lover himself. Felix already had Peter and then the family. And that was more than enough obligation as far as Peter was concerned; a wife would devour his time. It would be harder to sneak away. She would be someone else who Felix would try to  _please._

Peter would never agree to be less of a priority; he wouldn't share that luxury.

It was a simple matter of convincing Felix to share his point of view. And, now that they were hidden behind doors, alone, he could.

He waited until Felix had disappeared into the bathroom for a short while, heard the splattering of the spray bath through the wall. And then he got an idea.

The door wasn't very well oiled, it creaked when Peter slipped in. But Felix didn't say anything on the other side of the curtain. Either facing the other way, didn't think it worth his comment. Not commenting was standard fare with Felix, but Peter found himself itching with the urge to get him to talk.

He dropped his clothes, surprised to see how grimy and stale they felt after two days in transport. The vapors in the air warmed Peter's skin; he could smell soap when he pulled back the curtain.

The urge to surprise was only half fulfilled; Felix's eyes grew wider but he stood, taller than the showerhead by an inch or so, obstructing its stream around him. But he simply worked the bar of soap in his hand into a lather and began to scrub up his arms.

Peter cocked a brow. "Thinking, are we? Lots of important thoughts  _again_." In attempt to get a rise from Felix, he added, "Making wedding arrangements, are you?"

Swallowing loudly, working the slick bar to a lather in his hands, Felix thought, allowed his eyes and head to slide over to the rusty metal spigot spraying water down his body. Would it hurt? To tell Peter that he hadn't been able to get Sean Herman out of his mind. How the light went out, just like all the rest. But that the suggestion of empathy had ripped through into his mind and had infected it. That he tried and he'd always be with Peter - but it wasn't black-and-white - he had to think it through. He had to stop altogether. He had to make it out of this.

He had to do something.

Peter would think Felix was doubting him. He'd think Felix thought salvaging the prodigal son wouldn't accomplish their goal. That Felix didn't  _trust_ him.

Felix had no doubt Peter knew what he was doing - that he had a plan - that Baelfire would have no choice but to follow and fall into Gold's embrace - that this would deter Cora long enough to get rid of her.

He had no doubt Peter had thought of all the variables - but those would be variables that applied to  _Peter._ It'd be fair to assume that keeping Peter away from publicity would do the same for Felix. But the family wasn't fair. It wasn't an exact science. Phillip Prince lived while fish licked Sean Herman's bones clean.

It wasn't fair for Felix to always rely on Peter to cover his tracks. It was just as much of his crime as it was Peter's. But Peter did all the work.

He wanted to do something for himself - he wanted to do something for Peter. Something that didn't involve standing in the shadows and pulling out a gun when he was told.

"You said you were sorry in West Virginia," Peter clucked his tongue when Felix had gone long enough without a reply. "So act like it."

"I only…" Felix sighed. "I need to be sure we won't see the wrong end of a gun for this."

"I know." Peter said, waving his hand in a stream of water that made it passed Felix's skinny body. "But that's what I'm doing. You don't need a  _girl_ or brats for that." He punctuated his last sentence slowly, drawing out the words to mimic Felix's own speech patterns. "You just need me."

"Yes."

Peter paused. "So, just to clarify, who's gonna get you out of this?"

"You."

"There it is." Peter smiled, took a wet hand and pressed down on the slope of Felix's shoulder. It slid down his back and he jerked Felix closer, his grin growing to show teeth at the sound of Felix's breath catching in the humidity. "So just follow my lead and  _we'll_ get out of this."

Peter's hand slid up, catching in Felix's sopping wet hair, still partially greasy from the oil but springing into curls and tinting darker from the water around them. He tugged. "Need help getting this out of your hair?"

Twirling sticky locks through his fingers with both hands, Peter grinned wider when he'd pull and Felix would stiffen, leaning into one hand or the other.

When he tightened his fists again, tugged Felix down to his knees in front of him, he couldn't help but utter a tiny little noise, masked by the pounding of water against ceramic, indulging the warmth in his gut, the pounding in his chest.

Felix had come around. At least for the moment he wouldn't consider it again. After they were rid of the threat and returned to whatever sort of stasis required, Felix would leave his fear and see.

They wouldn't be burnt for this. No need for "extra precautions."

And now that Felix had, at least in part, understood this, they could afford to indulge in the finer parts of dangerous games, the things that kept him playing.

The threats were real and tangible, Peter could feel the flames of damnation licking at him the instant Felix's lips found his hip bone. There was a way out of this, he'd found a way and he'd make it work one way or another. Peter has never faced a challenge he didn't win.

However.

He always loved to play with matches.

And therefore there was an added thrill in running soapy hands through Felix's hair, in groaning when Felix's lips wrapped around him. In wanting someone so badly, in them wanting you at least that much in return, and finding them no matter what threats lingered in the year - having your way despite it all. Despite them hovering on the brink of mistakes.

Any stupidly added precautions would ruin that. Would ruin them.

For a moment - when the world flashed white in front of his eyes - Peter almost forgot the thrill. Completely lost in the feeling, the sensation, and wanting it just like that for the rest of his life.

Just him and Felix, the world a white backdrop behind them. It wouldn't be so bad.

But of course the high faded as Felix rose to his feet, soap sliding down the sharp angle in his cheek, and all Peter's priorities slotted into place. Priorities in shoving Cora where she belonged, getting his cousin took role of figurehead so could comfortably slot into an incredibly favorable position, where he would stand for the rest of his life. His frustration in Felix's priorities threatening to shift without his consent.

It was funny how all those things could fade, lost in a trembling heartbeat and surging pheremones.

Still feeling feathery in the chest, Peter wondered for a moment if Felix's priorities also shifted according to physicality. Would he start thinking again, once it was over?

He supposed it might be fun to test it. Hooking Felix from behind the neck, Peter tugged him back into the stream of water, the last of the soap falling to their feet. Flicking his tongue out to graze Felix's lip, Peter leaned up, bestowed a kiss that might've been considered soft had a different boy initiated it.

He laughed then, took a moment to look up and down his friend, lingering his glance here and there - on the muscles outlining his ribs, the concave in his belly, the way his cock slumped halfway at attention - as though unsure if it'd be worth it to get more excited. And then Peter shot his eyes back up to Felix's face.

It never failed to surprise him how warm the color of steel could look in Felix's eyes. His stomach leaped. He'd never say that Felix got him all goofy, all strung up. He wouldn't be the one to admit it. And yet he sucked another kiss from his boy's mouth, before whispering into his teeth, so quiet the drum of water could almost drown it out. "Do you love me?" He laughed when Felix nearly jolted in his surprise.

Felix couldn't return with words - only stared out, almost frightened.

"I'm not about to get you roses or anything," Peter said, voice light with a laugh. "But I do have to wonder. You just slipped out to come here with me - you always follow. Joined the family just like that. But is that because it's a means to an end? Or something more intimate? Do you love me, Felix? I only want to know what's on your mind."

Felix felt as though his whole body was filled with air but none were of any use to his lungs. His gut palpapitated and and spun around. He'd been doing the same since they were kids, tucked into a treehouse, snacking on other kid's Halloween candy. "And here I thought you always knew what I was thinking."

"Maybe I'm only trying to get you to realise what's on your own mind." Peter wrung out another lock of Felix's hair, now curly and snarled, but free of Brilliantine. "Or, maybe, recent events have made me wonder."

Felix's face fell then, multiple weaknesses and emotions showing at once, but he held Peter in close, muttered, "You know what's on my mind: you."

"Just so." Peter smiled, lowered his attention from Felix's head. "Wash my hair for me, won't you?"

When Peter started kissing down his body, Felix had to wonder if it was always so obvious when Peter was trying to play him and if he only just noticed.

When Peter's knees hit the ground and his tongue found a firm vein, Felix had to wonder why he'd even bother worrying about a silly little thing like that.


	5. Chapter 5

**I** t was a quaint little bungalow, brown paint with a lighter cinnamon color on the trim, the shutters and porch. A half finished checkers game on a stout table pushed against a railing, a worn welcome mat.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Peter asked halfway up the steps. He'd expected Baelfire to live in something closer to squalor after leaving the family.

Felix nodded his affirmation, reaching up to pull the brim of his hat lower. "It's the address."

"Well, best get to it, I s'pose." Peter wrinkled his nose. "Better hit all sixes."

The door swung open only a few minutes after they knocked. A woman stood on the other end, with blonde hair tucked up into a messy faux-bob as though she didn't quite want to commit to the fashionable style. She looked on to them with a confused, reserved look.

"You're Emma, right?" Peter asked, pulling the name from memory of the nights on the train studying Baelfire's papers.

"Who's asking?" Emma retorted dryly, almost causing Peter to blink in surprise from her blunt delivery.

Insead, Peter scoffed a laugh. Interesting moll, this one. "Is Neal home?"

The woman nearly gaped, as though Peter were being rude. "Maybe, but you didn't answer my question."

So this was what women sounded like when they weren't afraid of you. Vertebrae seemed like a masculine trait, but Emma wore hers rather well, at least on a first impression. Peter thought she was fascinating; Felix stiffened like a board.

To drive good manners home, he grabbed the brim of his hat and took it off, holding his hand to his side. Hopefully the fact that they'd forgotten to pack oil for their hair wouldn't be a detriment to his credibility. "Let's begin again, shall we? I'm Peter, Peter Gold. This is Felix behind me, here. And we're here to see my long-lost cousin."

"His  _cousin?"_ Emma narrowed her eyes. "Neal doesn't have any family."

"Clearly he does. And we came all the way from Maine to see him so-"

"And so you just assume I'll let you in on nothing?"

Peter looked down at his feet before returning his gaze to the woman on the other side of the door. "We're his family. Tried to find him for years. We just want to talk to him - see if he's interested in coming back."

Peter thought he did a pretty damn good job, but Emma didn't seem so convinced.

"He ran away for a reason."

Peter frowned, shook his head sadly. "Don't I deserve a chance to tell my side of the story? I just want to talk to him. Make it right." He opened his mouth to finish a thought, only to hear a second voice from inside. High pitched, young. Innocent. "Mom, shouldn't we let them in?"

Emma made a point of blocking the doorway when she turned her head to face the voice - it belonged a kid somewhere around five with an all too curious look on his face. "Henry. How long have you been standing there?"

The kid shrugged. "They're family and we need to be kind to family. What if Dad wants to see them?"  
Emma turned glanced between the sets of eyes poised on her her little son on one side and these strangers on the other. Then, she sighed, loudly. "I'll ask him if he wants to see you. Wait here."

She shut the door in their faces, the last thing Peter seeing was little Henry hopping around to try to get a glance at them - these fascinating strangers. And then he heard heavy footsteps falling away.

Peter turned to Felix. "I like her. A bit rude for a woman, but she's got -  _something_ to her."

"He's not going to let us in." Felix mulled, unwilling to press the subject.

"Of course he isn't," Peter agreed, nodded, and turned the latch on the door. It slid open. That was the nice thing about quaint little neighborhoods; everyone always left their doors open.

He stepped through the door and immediately into a living room. Peter was more accustomed to foyers, but he supposed an old runaway couldn't afford hallways.

For what is was, the house didn't look at all decrepit. Dated, with furniture from a decade before, but he supposed it could be a functional way of life.

Though maybe his cousin ought to buy a stock or two and get himself something impressive for when people came to call.

Peter circled around the room, noting the clock on the mantle and the books lying in disarray on the coffee table and footstools. The circular train set in a continued to look around. There was no design or scheme to the way the room looked, simply some old furniture tossed here or there. Either an indication of lacking the means for nice things or in lacking the time or interest to make the house look presentable. It wasn't dirty either, but dust on the mantle and gathering in corners indicated that Emma had priorities other than housekeeping.

Felix stared out the window while he waited, ran his fingers along the dusty curtains. It seemed to him as though the young boy from earlier had appeared from nowhere, popping from the coat closet with some sort of odd interest in the strangers circling around the living room.

With the added pair of eyes on his him, Felix opted to ignore it. He looked over to Peter, making a circle around the mantle, casually leafing through a magazine, a few loose sheets of paper on the side tables. Felix was sure they both looked thoroughly uninterested but, oddly enough, little Henry padded softly closer. Looking at Felix like he were a stray deer in his backyard. "Didn't Mom say to wait outside?"

From his place in the back of the room, Peter snickered. "It's too hot out there."

The kid nodded, as though that were any sort of viable reason to break into someone's house.

"And you're my dad's cousin?"

It took a moment before Felix realized the kid was looking at  _him._ He ticked his thumb towards Peter. "He is."

A contented nod and then, "I'm Henry."

Felix paused, wondering what on earth was so interesting about him or why the kid wasn't crying or blubbering at the sight of two strangers loafing around his house. Wouldn't that be the  _usual_ reaction? Though, then again, Felix figured he'd been displaced from usual society for so long he didn't know what was normal anymore. "Felix."

Curious and blissfully naive, little Henry slid onto an arm of the couch, standing up so that their heights were matched. Narrowing his eyes, he waited a moment but then spoke: "Do you have a gun?"

Felix chortled, he heard Peter laugh over by the mantle, even if his eyes never left the platform in front of him. Kids sure liked to get to the point, didn't they? "Yes."

"So what are you doing here?" Henry stared at Felix expectantly for an answer.

It'd be easy to lie. But he didn't get the chance to think of a decent one. From the next room over, they heard a chair slap against hard floor. And then a man's voice. "No. Get him out."

Peter halted his step, no longer circling around the furniture, in favor of adopting a confident stance when the man entered the house. "So it begins."

Felix nodded, turned away from Henry and returned to stand off Peter's shoulder ; Peter couldn't see, but he was sure Felix was wearing that same scowl that managed to get them all sorts of price drops on liquor.

Neal came through the door first. He didn't look much like Peter remembered Baelfire, but seven years can change a man; short hair, wrinkles around his eyes, and a hard glare when he burst through the door, jumping at the boys standing inside.

Emma came next, brows furrowed and calling out "I thought I told you to wait outside!" before she'd stepped fully in the room.

Neal stood, scowl on his face. He looked like he was about to tell Peter to beat it, but might have figured out that it wouldn't work.

Sensing his upper hand, Peter took a few steps forward. Proffering a polite smile, he extended his hand between his cousin and his friend. "Neal, this is Felix.  _A friend of ours._ "

"Not in front of my son." Neal said immediately, stiff and cold.

"But  _Dad-"_

"No, no buts.  _You,_ have the decency to step into the dining room."

The dining table and chairs were old and scratched, but they accomplished their purpose with Peter and Felix sitting on one side and Neal and Emma on the other.

Neal didn't seem willing to mix words. "How'd you find me?"

Peter waved his hand and on the cue, Felix reached inside his jacket and pulled out the leather folder he'd retrieved from Ruby Lucas. He slammed it on the table, the wood gave beneath its force but did not splinter.

"It's like you never really left." Peter said, easily, watching with a sort of subdued glee as Neal leafed through the documents, the old photographs, face losing all ruddiness in favor of a pale, sickly green.

"Neal?" Emma spoke from beside him. "What's going on?"

"It's a long story." Neal shook his head and then redirected to Peter. "You're saying you've been following me all this time? Then why'd they let me go?"

"Perhaps it's because your father loves you - perhaps it's because mine pretend to love me," Peter waved his hands. "The reason for that isn't important. The important thing is that you're smart enough to know that it's time to stop playing house and come home. Back to business, as it were."

"No. I got out and I'm not going back."

Peter chewed on the side of his mouth. "You didn't 'get out.' Nobody can get out. You're in this for life. So make the best of your situation, why don't you?"

He might have been happy with his speech, if not for Emma's fist on the table interrupting him before he could finish his last statement.

" _What the hell is going on?"_ She snapped. "Neal, are you in the  _mob?"_

"Just so." Peter answered for him, earning a sharp glare from his cousin.

Neal tried to amend himself. "No,  _I'm_ not. I ran away when I was a kid and-"

"And you never told me." Emma interrupted him. Peter and Felix exchanged a glance. "Neal, we have a kid together and you never thought to tell me once that you were in the mob?"

"I told you; I ran away. I got out of it."

"No you didn't," Peter continued, earning a harsh glare from across the table.

Neal turned back to Emma. "Look. Emma, I'm being square with you. I was just a kid. But I couldn't take it. My father killed a man in front of me once. So I ran away. I'm never going back to that."

"That last part isn't quite true," Peter put in. And to the next glare he shrugged. "I'm only saying that your compliance isn't exactly optional."

"Really?" Neal's voice was dry.

It was rather astonishing to Peter. From what he could tell; his cousin didn't even have a  _plan_ of any kind. He was just throwing out words and hoping for the best. How on earth could that combination ever give him anything he'd want?

"Really. Have you been away from the family so long that you've forgotten we have no limits. You're gonna come with us, back to Storybrooke. One way or another." He stood, gaining leverage in the room, and leaned on the low back of the chair with his hands. "Let's make it a game."

There was no response, just heavy glares as Neal chewed on his cheek and Emma clenched and unclenched her fist on the table.

Peter smiled. "Guess what I  _won't_ be willing to do to get you back with the family? Come on, guess."

No answer. The matched glares in front of him bore into his skull. Emma's was far more impressive - more fire in her eyes.

"Oh, come on. That's no fun." Peter clucked softly before turning his head to Felix, nudging his shoulder with his elbow. "How about you, Felix? Want to play? Think we won't knock him out and tie his wrists?"

Felix's lips slid up into a rather sinister mask. "No."

"Think we wouldn't drug him?"

"No."

"What about-"

Peter wasn't too used to being interrupted. And so when Emma stood from the kitchen table, it almost took him aback. He blinked a few times, confused in this oddity thrown into this all but ideal conversation.

"I've heard enough," She said, arms crossing. "You can't come into our house and threaten us."

" _Can't."_ Peter mumbled, sliding his head from one side to the other. He wondered what it'd be like to perceive limitations as something concrete like that. Felix had stiffened in his seat, hand twitched down at his side - always waiting for the call to aim and fire.

"Get out, or," Emma stood her ground. "I'm gonna call the police."

Still seated, Neal's eyes squeezed tight. "Emma-"

"Do you know who we are?" Felix spoke up, slow and intimidating.

"Yeah." Emma said. "But you just can't do this."

"But I can." Peter scoffed. "Baelfire - Neal - it doesn't matter what you call him because his life belongs to the family. Not to you. Not to him. We're a living, breathing organism. And we've been without a rib for a very long time."

"Technically speaking I was never initiated…" Neal muttered under his breath.

"It was your birthright anyhow." Peter sighed, leaning forward on the chair to better address his cousin. "Look. You don't have to give everything up. Take Emma with you; take Henry. All I have to do is get you back to Storybrooke. You'll have a lot better life there than you could dream of having down here. Comforts. Amenities. And, besides, your Papa's been missing you an awful lot-"

Neal swallowed. "No."

Peter frowned, clicked his tongue on the back of his teeth. "Don't you want to be part of something? To amount to something? For your existence to mean more than - oh what was it? - stealing cars and pocketwatches. You wouldn't even have to do any of the dirty work - just be a figurehead."

"He said no," Emma's voice punched in. "It's time for you to leave."

Peter quirked a brow. They weren't getting anywhere with the direct method. But that doesn't mean he would give up. He'd opt for something with more nuance. He sighed, turning from the chairs. He meandered a moment around the cramped dining space, holding back a laugh when all eyes followed him. At long last, he reached the door. "Felix, come along. We've  _clearly_ overstayed our welcome."

Felix looked confused, brow knit and mouth tight, but obliged him. He stood from his chair with a small lurch and followed to the door blocking the way from the dining room.

"Don't bother showing us out," Peter said over his shoulder around the same time he raised his hat back to his head. "I remember the way."

They crossed the living room, where Peter noticed Henry rolling wooden trains along a circle track intently; he could feel eyes boring into the back of his skull, parents making sure their kid was fine in their presence, whether mother or father or both. He made it out the door and off the porch without a hitch. It wasn't until he'd walked a block away that Felix spoke.

"Peter, what happened?" Felix asked, sounding more winded than he should be. "Why did you step down?"

Peter cast a casual glance over his shoulder, but continued treading down the sidewalks. It was hot. The heat made his vest stick to his back under his shirt. The sun beat down on his jacket and he wondered for a beat if he could change their positions so he'd be walking in Felix's shade.

"I didn't  _step down,"_ He replied after a moment, turning a corner to exit the neighborhood. "I merely altered the plan a bit. Don't worry about it."

Felix fixed his eyes on the air ahead of them, the blue horizon and tried to swallow down the humid air. "Of course."

Peter clucked his tongue, risked the moment to nudge Felix with his elbow before tucking his hand back in towards himself. "Do trust me a bit. It's not over yet."

 

 

**T** hey found a car for cheap. $340 for an old beat up fivver. They could've gone for less, but neither one of them was keen on cranking the engine when they'd have to go as far as Maine.

Felix wanted to know, more than anything, what sort of plan Peter was churning in his mind. It made him ache all over, being kept in the dark. Repeating, over and over, the sentiment that Peter would tell him when the time was right, that it'd turn out for the best regardless.

Through the day, with Peter being so secretive, and with them sitting in the drugstore with ice cream just chatting, Felix would guess - within his own mind - what Peter would do.

Ambush the man when he was on his way to work - make him come with them. Break in and have a seat on the couch so that the family would know enough to listen and comply - you can't shake someone like Peter after all. All sorts of exciting ideas, it kept Felix busy within his own mind at those times Peter stopped talking. And they waited.

But for what, Felix never knew.

He was totally unaware, even later that evening when Peter had him pull up their old beat up fivver near the back of a school, had him kill the engine.

"Wait here."

He came back two hours later, jostled Felix awake with one hand and muttered, "Come on, let's go."

"Wha-?" Felix slurred, blinking awake and starting the car in the same moment. "What happened?"

"We got our insurance," Peter grinned, gesturing to the back seat.

Felix blinked, peering over the bench in front of him. His eyes grew wide when he saw a  _kid_ there, sitting up straight and almost  _smiling._

Henry.

"What?" Felix swung his head back to Peter. "How?"

"While you two were chatting," Peter said, gesturing that Felix best start driving (which he did immediately) as he explained. "I saw a schedule for rehearsals for the school play. So, I decided to clue Henry here in on our plans to reunite the family."

Henry leaned forward in the seat. "And I decided to come too. So Dad can see his dad again."

Felix's face was almost unreadable, and Peter could have laughed at him when he glanced over to give his instruction to turn at the stop sign. "This is going to be a long trip," Felix said after a moment, casting his head to the back seat. "Can you sit that long?"

Henry's frown in return was almost comical, Peter thought. "Yes. I'm  _almost six._ I'm not a baby."

As though the dismissal cemented something, Felix finally allowed his lips to turn up. He removed his eyes from the road to look at Peter, pure admiration on his face.

Peter laughed, high pitched and pleased with himself - if he'd known it'd be so easy to kidnap, he might've resorted to similar tactics sooner. "Step on it, won't you? We've only got an hour yet before someone'll notice he's gone."

They drove through the night. When Felix grew tired, Peter slunk in behind the wheel. Henry slept soundly over bumps and turns in the road, all the way till morning.

The drive itself took three days. Landing them back in Storybrooke a day or so behind schedule. There was nothing to be done, and Peter hoped no one would care about it after Baelfire showed up behind him. In the meantime, a hollow apology should suffice.

Having to bother with taking Henry caused a delay in his plans, but it wouldn't deter Peter's optimism. He'd all but won, after all. Neal would come back up to Storybrooke to fetch his son, he'd be reunited with Gold. The family wouldn't let him leave a second time.

And therefore, Peter wouldn't be Cora's problem for a while. And that would be long enough to do whatever it was he had to do to ensure she'd never be his problem ever again.

Peter filled the silent moments, chattering on and on to Henry. Deliberately showing the kid a different side of the coin. The long winding backroads eventually turned into rich yellows and reds to showcase the autumn season in the north as Peter painted the world with his own point of view. If Felix had just been a little younger, a little more naive, he might've believed Peter's words himself.

"Some people think we're no good, Henry," Peter had said, early on the second afternoon. "But they don't understand. We're in a place where we can protect people - so we make that work. We give them things they want. But it's like going to the store - you can't get candy without a nickel, right?"

Henry had nodded, curious, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, absorbing the last of the ice cream soda he'd had with lunch.

"Right. So people give us money and they do nice things for us, and we help them get things they want and do nice things for them. That's what it's all about."

"But why did my dad run away?" Henry asked.

Smarter than anticipated.

But Peter took it in stride. Laughed it off, gnawed on his cheek before replying. "Your grandfather doesn't  _act_ very nice. He runs the business; he  _has_ to be a little mean. Like the man who runs the pharmacy. He has to make sure everybody gives us the nickel for the sweets, so to speak. And if they don't, they don't get the nice things we give them. And sometimes it's like when you misbehave and you get the belt. Your father didn't like that very much. So he ran away."

Henry frowned, he took a moment to process. But then nodded. "I once tried to run away from the teacher when she got the paddle out; my parents don't do that."

Peter's brows furrowed before muttering out, "How sweet of them," voice all silky.

He returned to lobbying a few hours down the road, making sure to remind Henry how badly the family  _missed_ his father and how  _brave_ and  _heroic_ Henry was being for taking the steps to bring them all back together. One big happy family.

Felix thought Peter was lying it on a little thick - being too sweet about it. But he'd always had a way of making family life sound appealing. Felix knew that firsthand.

 

Three days later, just as calculated, the old fivver crossed into the town, chipping white paint on the sign marking their way -  _Welcome to Storybrooke._


	6. Chapter 6

**I** t seemed as though Regina had learnt to lock her door from the last time Peter paid an impromptu visit.

"Annoying, isn't it?" He muttered, bringing his hand up to the door and wrapping his knuckles around the elegant gold knocker.

Felix absently shucked off his overcoat and handed it to the Henry to quell the his shivers - unused to the nippiness of Maine in autumn. "What is?"

"How every step I take seems to add another," Peter said, a small sigh in his lungs, but unable to elaborate further once Regina opened the door.

The woman stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip with cool dissonance in her face. At least until she saw the kid. At that point, the confusion became apparent. "Who's this?"

Peter pushed Henry forward and the kid introduced himself, voice soft. "I'm Henry."

"It's nice to meet you, Henry." Regina spoke slowly, not insincerely, but trying to piece together what scanty information she had. Eyes flicking up to Peter and Felix outside, she stood up straighter. "What's going on?"

"I need to use your phone," Peter used the unsure nature of Regina's stance to push through and into the house, Felix on his flank. He'd nearly made it down the hall and into the living room by the time Regina caught up.

"Do you really expect me to sit by and idly be an accomplice to whatever it is you're trying to do?" Regina's frown tighten.

There were several places Peter could take this, but the first one that jumped to mind was to play coy. "But it's important - I've got to see a man about a kid."

Regina's eyes flared for a moment, cracks shooting through her patience, threatening to break it down. "What?"

"I've got to call his parents." Peter took another step down the hall, "I'm sure they're worried about him."

Wrenched between the possibility that Peter was actually trying to do something nice for the kid or otherwise had an agenda, Regina paused. "Don't you want him there with you?"

"Not particularly." And when Peter noticed Regina seemed to lean into those words, seemed to glean some sort of underlying tone, he amended himself. "We've been in a car for a few days, I'm sure he just wants to have something other than junk you get at drugstores."

Successfully appalled at the idea of someone living off hamburgers and malted milk for days, Regina fell back. Peter waved Felix on, until they came into the receiving room. The telephone sat on an antique table against the back wall.

Peter picked up the receiver and held it to his face. He nodded once the grating mechanical tone whirred low in his ear and Felix dialed the numbers for him as though it were a command. The reel bunched up tight with each new number in place and then sun out of control to pop back in place. Six digits later, and Felix handed the speaker over to Peter, and stood close enough to overhear, although hopefully not quite close enough to tarnish their reputations.

The girl at the switchboard connected without a hitch, and Peter tried not to let himself coil into a smirk when she let him through.

"I'm a bit surprised," Peter said, lifting his voice so that his inflection would come through over the gritty connection. "That I got ahold of you; would've thought you'd be halfway here by now."

"You sonuvabitch," Peter could've laughed at the sheer amount of fire in Neal's voice, or the staticy feed he got from Emma, apparently giving him a piece of her mind from beside the speaker. "What did you do to my son?"

"He's  _fine,_ if that's what you're wondering." Peter leaned against the table and Felix slouched a little more to compensate for the shift in height. "I'll make sure that he gets baths and brushes his teeth and all that."

There was rustling from the receiver, and when the noise made itself sensical again, Peter assumed that Neal and Emma were sharing the phone, much like he was with Felix.

Emma's voice came through, harsh, biting. "What do you want with him?"

"What I want with him? Nothing really. It's what he'll  _bring along with him."_

Neal spoke next. "This was all some ploy to get me to come back? You are-"

"Save the flattery. Fact is, he's up here in Storybrooke. It's your move next."

Emma: "We have the police here. They can call your jurisdiction."  
" _Please._  There isn't an officer from here to Chicago that's willing to arrest me. And not a prosecutor in the country stupid enough to take my case. By all means, come and get your son back. I want you to come and get him. But you'll have to come yourself. It's a three day drive if you go fast - see you then. We'll make it a family reunion."

And with nothing else to say, Peter clamped the receiver back down on its metal holds, his future all but secured.

They found Henry again, sitting by the counter of Regina's kitchen, a bowl of soup in front of him. Regina was on the opposite end, listening to the kid talk, lips turned up and more than a little charmed by Henry's cheerful candor.

That said, Peter was fairly certain the kid said more than he should have by the way her glare slid all the way through the room when Peter entered.

"I must be off," He said before Regina could start something. "I have to head to the shop for the day, got some business to attend to. Regia, watch over Henry for a bit, won't you?"

" _What_ are you planning?"

"I told you," Henry slurped his soup for a moment before patting his chin with a napkin. "They're going to get my dad back with his family."

"I remember, dear," Regina's voice was soft but then stiffened into rock when she stood and approached the boys by the door. " _Well?"_

"It's family matters," Peter saved his hand. "I thought you didn't want that anymore."

"You  _made_ me involved," Regina hissed. "After making it clear you know I'm no good at business, you wrap me up in this-this  _kidnapping!"_

Peter rolled his eyes. "Do relax. His parents-"

"You mean Baelfire." Regina mused, cutting through Peter's sentence irritatingly. "How on  _earth_ did you find him?

"Family business. Let's not get wrapped up in the details." Peter muttered but then went on. "Either way, his parents will be here three days time. Look after him for that, just until they arrive."

Regina drew a tight frown, she was visibly torn, but all she said was "Give me a reason."

"Do you really trust my mum and  _Malcolm_ to make sure he's fed while I'm off with Gold and Felix's making cheap gin in the woods?"

It seemed as though Regina was about to protest before she thought better of it. "I see your point."

 

 

**F** elix was working in the Rabbit Hole again when he fumbled opening a bottle, spilled it down his shirt, and watched pensively at all the time, money, and danger that had gone into making it as it fell down his front and onto the floor in trickling puddles.

It seemed either incredibly profound or incredibly pretentious but he didn't have any time to stew on it. The next moment he had a glass in his face and a bumbling girl with her voice too high demanding another drink.

The crowd swelled for a moment but then died down, most people preferring to sit at tables and drink or dance or take their time fumbling down the halls to the coat closets or the toilet or to make their ways outside to fight.

Once the crowd had dissipated, Felix found himself opening another crate and handing bottles up to Ruby to restock up until the crate was empty and then he kicked it back. Ruby almost immediately began to run a damp rag over the polish of the bar, sorted the bottles and returned them to their original places on the wall. She wiped down the utensils and tumblers and mixers for a temporary sanitation until they'd be used once more. Felix leaned on the bar - hands out in front of him, body piked back, and watched - the people with their arms and feet in sync, arms and legs in the air when someone would attempt a lift. People curled into corners and tables, clinking glasses and gulping down burning liquid, laughing and singing songs that didn't match the band's set at all.

The song ended and trumpet players sat down to catch their breath; the piano, guitars, and drum then were all that was left, but the show continued.

After a while, and another patron's refill, Ruby slid in beside Felix, stood up straight at the bar; taller than him for the moment with how he slumped. "Did you get the money to Ashley?"

"It's in the mail." Felix cut it short. He could almost feel Ruby's eyes narrowing on him.

There was a sigh and as much as Felix wished the conversation wouldn't take this turn, she spoke again. "She's not doing so good." A pause, a moment. Felix didn't move a muscle. "You know what happened to Sean, don't you?"

"I can't talk about it." Felix said as means of an answer.

"Thought so."

Felix half expected Ruby to kick him out, tell him to beat it. To his surprise, she merely picked up a long necked bottle of gin. "I learned how to make a new drink. C'mon, I'll teach you."

He must have given her an incredulous look because she spoke again.

"I've seen what they can do," Ruby muttered, almost too low to be heard over the music. "But you're not in charge, you're just part of the pack. I don't think we can blame you for that."

She was wrong, Felix thought, but he nevertheless accepted her kindness. It wasn't as though he got it anywhere else.

For Peter, it was almost comical in how, after three days of sitting in a car drudging by painstakingly slow, three days could speed by in a blink's pace when so many variables were up in the air.

Peter had chosen to stow the boy with Regina for a few reasons, the most important to keep him away from Gold. No good letting Henry's tongue wag too much and accidentally spoil the surprise. If Gold were to anticipate his son's arrival, he would undoubtedly destroy Peter's carefully laid out plans, and he'd have to find some sort of backdoor.

Backdoors weren't troublesome to Peter, but they were another step on the seemingly unending path to his immunity.

Other than keeping Henry's presence a secret, it was a matter of pretending everything was the same. Up till that last day it'd been easy. The first two had passed as though it were nothing, Peter had murmured his apologies with some fictional story about a tour of New York and Yes, sir, he should have called and No, it will never happen again, sir. And all was forgiven.

But on that last day, the third day where Neal would undoubtedly return to their quaint little New England town, Peter had only just woken up, and it felt as though the day had passed underneath him.

He sighed, a long breath that seemed to drag on for ages, before he sat up. The bed was cold around him, in the empty spaces unoccupied by another warm body. Peter wasn't the type to mind sleeping alone. On the contrary, he found it refreshing to rest without having to maneuver Felix's limbs around him. Waking up alone was the part he didn't like. He didn't like the cold in the mattress, the lack of a stale crispness in the sheets when he slid through them, not having anyone to climb over or push into the mattress as he pierced the cold bedroom air to dress.

But once he was out into the bedroom, it was all the same, except for the slow drag that seemed to accompany everything on this day of utmost importance. He chewed his eggs slowly, fastened his tie slowly, arrived to the shop slowly. Every second ticked by as though it were a minute, and Peter tried to swallow his anticipation with grace, but found it more difficult than he'd expected.

 

 

**I** t was suppertime by the time things sped up. An unknown car blazed through Main Street. Peter was still at the Gold house, pouring over old records and diaries to try to find some ammunition against Cora when it screeched into the driveway.

Peter had shot out of his chair, meeting the butler on the way just fast enough to shoo him from the responsibility.

Peter pulled the door. "Fancy meeting you here."

Neither Neal nor Emma seemed willing to exchange words. From the former the greeting took form of "You son of a bitch, where's Henry?" And from Emma a far more concise "Where's my son?"

Peter exaggerated a frown. "I think you've forgotten your manners, Baelfire."

"It's Neal."

Peter shrugged. "Takes a while to get used to. Well, come on in. Time for the reunion."

To his surprise, it was Emma who stepped forward. "Give us Henry first."

Peter laughed. "I like your fire, cuz," He mused. "You don't mind if I call you that do you? We're family after all."

"I don't care what you call me - just give me Henry."

"He isn't here." And to the paired glares directed at him he sighed low. "Oh don't look at me like that. He's in the city but not  _here,_ here. He's being looked after."

"You took Henry and then you  _abandon him?"_ Nealblinked, face hardening. "You're-"

"A stone cold sonuvabitch I know," Peter sighed, still holding an arm out to welcome them in. "I thought you'd be relieved. I left him with someone with a much more prevalent maternal instinct."

"Somehow that isn't reassuring," Emma mumbled under her breath.

Peter - feeling benevolent from his impending victory - laughed and gestured at them to follow, turning away from the door.

He heard two sets of feet at his back, and with that cue he continued. "Play along and you'll get Henry back without a scratch on him, I promise. But until you're reunited with the older generation and tucked in all…nice and secure, I'll be keeping him. It's only fair, understand."

Leading them up the stairs, he could feel the hateful stares at the back of his head. But they still complied and that was the important part.

The great doors of Gold's office were sealed, just as they always were. Deterring anyone without pivotal information from entering - anything less than earth shattering was unacceptable without an invitatio.

First Peter turned to the begrudging, desperate set of adults, bidding them wait and stay put, before crossing the threshold.

Gold's office had lessened in grandeur over the years; so many evenings were spent on the expensively papered walls, going through papers and receipts and messages from familymen and desperate townspeople. Those days, seven years later, it seemed as unremarkable as the man himself.

"Sir?" Peter poked his head into the room.

"I'm very busy Peter," Gold mumbled, leafing through a book - nothing business related Peter thought - but an over glorified piece of fiction. "Is this important?"

Cocky grin and Peter's brows shot up. "I'd wager you'll think so."

"Very well," Gold said, snapping the book shut and looking at him from the bright, polished desk. "What is it?"

Peter returned to the door, close to laughing at the expression he knew was on Gold's face; skeptical and impatient.

"Come on in." Peter turned, lifted a knowing brow when the door swung open wider and, just like that, Gold burst to standing. Lip quivering. Eyes shining.

Where those  _tears_? Really?

Peter assumed his usual place against the wall. He wasn't too keen on waterworks, but this could turn into something better than his wildest dreams.

Neal complied as Peter expected. Even Emma was willing to shut her mouth and allow it to unold. Extraordinary. Peter wondered for a short moment, while Gold had taken Neal by the shoulders and cried out his laments, if Malcolm and Zelena would've been willing to lie so eloquently just to get  _their_ son back.

Peter doubted it. But that was for the best; it gave him a degree of freedom that'd be unreachable otherwise.

The conversation had gone just as Peter had thought it might. Gold pleading that he could make it up to his son - "I can, I promise." He clearly noticed the stiff look on his son's face and went on. "And now that you're back I can prove it. I won't make you do any business you don't want to. Now that you're here - we can be a family."

Peter half wanted to vomit from the sweetness dripping in the air, half wanted to laugh at Neal's crumbling resolve - all the walls pelted down to the ground with his son on the line.

Convinced that Neal had stuck to his end of the bargain once he'd introduced Emma to Gold - the woman's face just as harsh as it had been with Peter himself - Peter slipped out of the room. It was time to make a call. He picked up the phone in the hall, waited for the tone and the operator.

"Connect me to Regina Mills in Storybrooke, Maine."

Peter let the butler shown Regina and Henry in. There was no reason to intercept them, nothing more he required from the kid or from his aunt.

And so he returned to his place as a drapery in Gold's office. There was talk of a big celebration to ensure the whole family knew that Neal's return was something they were welcoming as a family - that the usual punishments for trying to leave wouldn't be relevant. No one seemed too excited for it as Gold rattled off all the familymen to invite, the band to hire, how they'd have to take back some liquor from the speakeasies in order to mollify their guests. But it wasn't something to get excited over - much like Peter's birthday that seemed so long ago, it would be a family affair.

Once that conversation was over, and Gold busied himself making the important phone calls, Peter led Neal and Emma back to the receiving room.

Peter was surprised when he pulled the door open to the rather picturesque image of Regina and Henry opposite each other on sofas, cards fanned out in front of them, Regina in the middle of saying "Go fish" when they interrupted the game.

"Henry!"

The boy in question shot up at his parents' voices. His smile bright and wide on his chubby cheeks. "Mom! Dad! You came!"

With that, he bounced up, ran into extended arms.

Regina sat, suddenly uncomfortable. Well aware of which side of this story she was on.

Henry piped up just then. "Did you see your dad?" He asked Neal. "Is everything better now?"

Neal paused. He took a deep breath. "Yeah. I did. And I-I think we're staying a while now."

"That's good," Henry said, nodded contentedly. All the good sense a five year old could muster came through when he added, "Just because Grandpa can be mean doesn't mean he doesn't love you."

Neal looked over to Peter who did his best to look innocent.

Emma brought Henry into another hug. "We're gonna have to talk about this later. Okay?"

Henry frowned. "But we're all back with Dad's family. I did a good thing. Didn't I?"

The adults were quiet. The grandfather clock ticked away, the radio on the far wall fizzled out static.

"I think so, Henry." Peter put in. All three sets of adult eyes skimmed over to him. If looks could kill Peter would have died three times over.

"We were worried about you," Neal eventually said.

"I was fine." Henry said. "Peter and Felix told me all about it and Ms. Mills makes the  _best_ lasagna."

At that point, Regina blanched at the way both Emma and Neal looked at her. She knew she was on the incriminating end of this. There was no excuse. Peter could have rolled his eyes at how pathetic she looked. Served her right for getting attached.

"So they kept him with you when they kidnapped him?" Emma asked, voice raised. "What did you tell him?"

Regina frowned but Henry spoke up. "Mom, I left on my own. I wasn't kidnapped. I just wanted to help Dad."

Neal swallowed sadly. "I know what you were trying to do. But you can't just leave and not tell us where you went."

Henry nodded, frowning sadly. "Okay. Fine. But don't blame Ms. Mills."

"She kept you away from us."

"She's nice!"

Emma put a reassuring hand on her son's shoulder. "She was involved."

At this point Regina was obviously fed up with being treated as though she wasn't in the room. "I did what I had to do given my loyalties to the family," Regina snapped, "it's not always clear cut but you learn quickly. I suggest you take my advice, Mrs. Cassidy."

From his position, poised on the permits of the room, Peter was rather impressed. Regina had a voice of her own after all. How interesting.

 

 

**T** he party of obligation was all prepared at the end of the following day. Felix and Peter had gone with a truck to empty the Rabbit Hole of all its imported liquors. And in the meantime they could guess what it looked like as professionals decorated the ballroom, as Neal accepted his fate with a grim look, the orchestra's warming overture sounded like a dirge. And it was no longer Peter's problem.

He and Felix unloaded the truck, crate after crate into the ballroom and the arms of clean cut waiters.

It took a few hours, sweat from heavy lifting dampening his vest underneath it all, dark dirty streaks on his khakis, a strain on his back. But soon enough it was done. Peter wasn't needed for any planning or preparation that time around. Thus he took a quick detour to Felix's apartment across town - a shared shower and they both changed into fine English cut suits before they were arriving at the Gold house once more- both of them guests.

Peter knew those lonely old corridors just as well as he knew himself, knew all the hidden paths to get into the ballroom or Gold's office or his own room. And so he didn't even have to wait for the butler to show him in just so long as the door was unlocked.

He'd made it all the way up to Gold's office with Felix half a pace behind him before he noticed, through the gap in the ajar doors, Neal standing in the place he'd stood for all those years.

Noticing the pin-straight discomfort in his cousin, Peter had to bite his tongue to quiet his laugh. How could he have forgotten; with Neal in place Peter could literally slide by, no need to arrive early for the pedantic preparations, the biographies of every familyman since 1875. The plans for walking through the ballroom, who was worth their time, who was on warning, who was a friend of theirs, who was a friend of Gold's, who might be taken out by the end of the night. It was no longer Peter's responsibility. He didn't have to waste time anymore - he could simply focus on achieving his own immortality. k

"What is it?" Felix whispered. The intention was to remain unheard, his voice quiet and unvocal in Peter's ear; sparks ignited in his belly.

Grabbing the knot in front of Felix's neck, Peter tugged, hand slipping down the satin till he had a firm grip, mangling his thin tie. He pulled, walking away from Gold's office, dragging Felix on a makeshift leash. It was right there, for anyone to see. But he felt powerful; there was no reason to worry.

He dropped Felix when they turned the corner, seeing the tall window at the end of a hall, and the newest little familywoman leaning up against the glass.

Coming up behind Emma, Peter peered over her shoulder, saw all the ritzy cars rolling up the driveway to come and join, he made her jump, only for a moment when he spoke.

"Don't worry, cuz, they're not going to ask you too many questions. They're not that interested," Peter said smoothly. He stepped back and quirked his brow. "You haven't been instated yet, so they won't bother. Even if you are locked in." Peter replied, a grin sliding across his face. "Might as well enjoy it."

"Enjoy it?" Emma echoed, voice harsher than it'd been since Peter heard her demanding her son's return. "What kind of person actually looks at this and enjoys it? You dragged my family into this - my son into this. And you're just gonna tell me to sit back?"

Peter scoffed, took a quick look over the woman. She looked odd in the flowing dress and hairpiece glimmering onto her hair. "Your other option is to be sour about it and reap no benefits. If you don't know how to work the system-"

"I've worked my share of systems. And I had to do it since I was a kid," Emma muttered, somewhere between irritated and introspective. "I got out."

"You never get out," Peter dug his hands into his pockets. "Crime ring or not - it's a lifestyle that never changes. No matter how hard you try."

Emma glared at him, harsh glance sliding between him and Felix, both equally damning and harsh. "And you tried to put my son in that position. Just because you needed a leg up. You needed Neal here -  _why_?"

Although it might have been fun to see how Emma would react to the truth, Peter wasn't about to allow words to unravel all his work. It'd be far more entertaining to watch her to squirm instead. And so, he blinked. Cocked his head to the side. "Tried? I'm pretty sure Henry's already four feet under in family matters. But you'll understand that soon enough."

Emma's cheeks sucked in, close together and threatening. She recoiled a moment, as though to draw away. The next second Peter heard a sharp crack, felt a chord of pain blunt on his nose, and he fell back.

Felix caught him before he hit the ground. Peter hadn't even realize he'd touched the wound until he pulled away four fingers saturated in blood.

"That's for taking Henry." Emma's tone was somewhere between a declaration and a battle cry before shuffling away, gait surprisingly even for someone who Peter wouldn't have assumed wore heels often.

Felix had already unfolded his pocket kerchief and offered it to Peter.

Peter shook his head, pressed the white cloth under his nose. "She could be useful someday," he mused, returned to stand before he hissed at the blood smeared on the backs of his hands. "Look into her past, won't you? Figure out what she meant when she said she was in systems before."

Felix nodded, looking pensively at Peter's blood that'd splattered on his hands after the impact. "Now?"

"Course not. You don't want to miss the party do you?"

Felix shot him a dry look.

"Oh come on," Peter's voice was muffled through the kerchief, but somehow still sounded magnetic, alluring. "You might manage to have some fun yet."


	7. Chapter 7

**T** he ballroom wasn't very well decorated, despite being fully attended by those who knew their absence might cost a life. But it was still just as ritzy as Peter's own birthday party, a few boys up for hire threading their bows through their violins, and Gold leading Neal through crowds of people, echoing the redundant refrain Peter knew by heart:  _a friend of ours, a friend of ours, a friend of ours._

As Peter circled the ballroom, he watched Neal stiffly fall in line with his father's shadow, a protective hand perpetually on Henry's shoulder. Peter felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. Freedom.

For the first time in Peter's life, he was entirely lacking attention. And at the realization he found his mind scrambling all the way down to the lower parts of town, sinking into the recesses of the Rabbit Hole where he could wrangle a group together that would hang off his every word.

Nevertheless, attention or none, Peter had accomplished his deed. Everything was still in play - Neal would still function as a figure, Peter would still build up an empire and get a leg up over the family, and Cora would be too busy trying to protect Regina's place with the added players to even notice Peter slinking in behind her. Everything was still functional, despite the irritating little pricklings deep inside Peter's gut. But that was nothing - it was fine. He'd only neglected to wonder how he'd feel when the warm glow of limelight abandoned him for an utterly unremarkable adult.

And how one feels can most certainly wreck a game. But he'd mend his ego soon enough, he thought as he circled around the ballroom. A few familymen and women here and there gave him a wave or salute but didn't break conversation for him. Just as well; he wouldn't have wanted it.

Kids in the family were a toss up. Sometimes you could dig out a mastermind, someone destined to be boss someday - which only meant you had to get him on your side before they started thinking for themselves. If met unopposed, a war could break out before they've even begun.

Luckily enough for Peter, he didn't see that as he sifted through the company of children. Most of them were children, ordinary as they came. Feeling as though Papa didn't love them because they didn't quite understand the way family sucked up all his time. Or because Papa was too keen on the moonshine. One way or another, they were often bitter over the family but knew their limitations and so placed their trust in Peter - even these children who had only heard Felix's speeches over the past year - to at least make it relevant and important to them.

They were so innocent and they didn't know what they were getting into.

Which only made it easier.

It only took him an hour to card through his own regiment. Kids were antsy, weren't keen on small talk, and only wanted to play, if only they'd be allowed to run in the ballroom. Easier than it'd been before, but not quite as fun.

He combed through a sea of suits moving like cresting waves until he found the particular suit he was looking for; a boy so skinny he looked boxy, no matter how well the suit fit. He slunk in off Felix's shoulder, muting him midsentence. The boy had been standing in a dark corner, stitched frown on his face; speaking quietly to the older of the younger set; a young man named John Darling.

Peter hadn't paid much mind to him before, he'd been a piece in the game. Tall and older and hailing from old, old money. He'd be an asset to Peter's plans, good at recording the more banal business from the grown-ups, but something about the boy, the way he matched Felix in height, had always dissuaded Peter from holding a conversation.

"Hate to break up the party but," Peter interjected. "I require Felix at the moment."

John Darling nodded and stepped away without a word.

Peter flicked his eyes from the smooth floor to the grey poised in front of him. "I'm bored," He said, voice low. "Let's bow out early. Five minutes."

The black in Felix's eyes doubled, and he had to chomp down on his lip to keep from grinning too broadly, before he turned back to the fray in order to disappear amongst the masses.

He hadn't seen Felix leave, but one long winding song after he'd made his plans and he knew he couldn't have more than a minute until he'd slip away.

Or, that was the plan. Peter would have done it if not for the chilly voice, carrying on air, from behind him.

"Well, Peter, I must say you're elaborate if nothing else."

Half of Peter stiffened as though he were starched, the other half - the smarter half - knew that he hadn't left Cora a leg to stand on. Anything she'd say would only be a powerplay, and he could play that game just as well as she could.

She didn't give Peter the time to respond, merely appeared. "I know you like things clever-or,  _complicated_ ," She continued. "But I never would have guessed you'd make such a mess for yourself."

"I wouldn't quite call it a  _mess,"_ Peter tilted his head and did his best to alter his stance to use her own techniques to dwarf her. "A bit cluttered, but you can't expect to win if you keep everything nearly as tidy as you do."

"That's the reason you're going to fail, you know."

Little dots appeared in Peter's vision, but he humored her. "Oh? And what could that be?"

"You treat everything like a game. You think if you're merely  _clever_ enough, with or without the resources or the power, you can win. You spend your time on schemes and over elaborate plans when your preoccupation should lie elsewhere."

Peter snickered under his breath, not willing to allow the woman to rattle him. "And I assume you'll say it should lie with you? I should've stationed a few boys to watch your every move? No, that's a waste of human resource."

"I don't know what good you could have seen in returning Gold's son. If you think that only because his attentions are going to be focused elsewhere, he won't persecute you, you're much more dim than I thought."

"Not what I thought at all," Peter said, trying not to take the natural route and cross his arms over his chest. "But I must say, I'm surprised you're still after me when you've got a much bigger problem on your hands."

Cora shifted her head from one side to the other, but still stood straight and prim. "Go on."

"Not only is Gold's beloved Baelfire back home, but he's got a family. It's true that Baelfire ran away and the usual protocol would be an execution, not a party. I'd be remiss if I didn't point out, that with Neal here there's no way Regina's going to inherit any more of the company than she would have. Neal will have his share of responsibilities of the family - very likely what was mine before all this - and then there's Henry. Too young now but in a while? He'll definitely slip into my shoes. And even with them I doubt Gold would leave me in the dust. I'm still getting a fraction. You see where I'm going with this. Regina's position in the family is even worse off than it was before - we've all been demoted for him, and yet you're here threatening  _me?"  
_ "And for good reason. You brought them here."

"I happened to cross paths with someone while on holiday." Peter's voice almost rose but he was quick to stuff it back down. "Hardly anything to fuss over."

Cora stood, calculating her next step. Peter learned this much last time; when her eyes fixed on the rug, she wasn't accepting defeat but rather coiling in to pounce.

And so, Peter beat her to the punch. "I think Regina rather likes Henry." He made sure that the woman saw the smile on his face before he elaborated. "I imagine that when she gets to that ranch she wants so badly she'll want to start a family of her own. But I doubt she'd bring her own child to visit. Too much bad air in town."

"Regina isn't leaving. She has her foolish dream for now, but I won't let her leave. There's too much at stake for her."

"Either way," Peter said easily. "You've got bigger problems than me and you'd best address them first before any of them get too big. Wouldn't you agree, Grandmother, that after a certain point, the weeds become too big to pull?"

"And you're insinuating that you are one of these weeds?"

Peter's grin showed teeth, it was too much of a tell, but he merely shrugged. "All I know is that you waited seven years to try to scare me into behaving. But this, this is an immediate threat to your plans."

"I want you to think for a moment," Cora said. "About what exactly you think my plans are."

Peter paused, certain she was leading him to something and unwilling to get there.

"You know I want Regina to have power - I want her security just as I wanted your mother's security before she had it-"

"And how  _did_ you decide that Malcolm of all people was good for security-"

Cora cut him down with a glance. She went on. "And you know what I'm willing to do to stop you from meddling. But what do you know about my plans?"

"Oh who's trying to be clever now?" Peter cocked a brow and turned his head, gazing out over the sea of suits and fedoras and neatly embroidered dresses. "Maybe if you took your own advice you'd figure out that I'm not the person you should be bothering with. Gold's willing to burn the world for his son. Regina isn't secure. My parents aren't secure. Even the parts of business you've merged with Gold aren't secure."

"You're incredibly confident for a boy who isn't secure himself."

"Did I say anything about myself?" Peter frowned. "No? Well, it's because I know what I'm doing. You just don't have the scope I've got."

Cora remained cold. Difficult to read. It didn't seem as though any of her resolve had shifted even when she asked him "Are you suggesting something?"

Peter nodded. "Refocus. Reprioritize. And come to terms with the fact that one little insignificant secret of mine isn't going to tear down everything I've built. It's better to be with me than against me. And, I'm not your biggest problem right now."

"Insignificant?" Cora pulled the word through her lips with a jetstream of icy air. "You defy the laws of nature and somehow that's insignificant to you?"

"You're trying to get me for something you can't  _prove_." He cocked his head, tutting under his breath, "And that's not  _fair._ No one's gone after you, even if it was obvious." Peter took a step to the side, in hopes to circle the woman, but Cora stepped in his path before he could start. Shrewd. But nothing important. "My mum really looks nothing like Grandfather, does she?"

He thought he saw something pass over Cora's face then. Some flicker of recognition or damnation, it didn't matter which. "Yours is a different crime, I'll admit, but as it turns out, it's the same sentence."

Cora turned, hands stiff for a moment in front of her before they relaxed - fingers neatly laced with the other hand. "The only crime I committed would be getting caught - thirty years after the fact. There's enough dust on this, if you mention it, to make them laugh in your face."

"Oh, I don't think  _you'll_ get shoved into the Atlantic. At least not anymore. But it does warrant some thought. If my mother isn't really in your family, what right does she had to any of the protection or money from the Mills family? Her existence is a sham - it'll be seen as fraud. And if  _she's_ a bastard, who's to say her sister isn't as well? You know what women are like - creatures of habit. And if both daughters aren't really part of the Mills family, why should they get any benefits at all?" Peter sighed, "And in the end, it's more money for Mr. Gold to hand to Baelfire and convince him to stay."

Cora was silent. Electively so, Peter knew. But it didn't seem as though she was preparing a speech. Her eyes flickered as though she was trying to find a point to pivot the threats back at Peter but was coming up empty. He could still see his words getting in her head, that she'd change her prerogative and refocus. And, even if not, she'd have to get Gold's attention to condemn him. And for the moment that was taken. He'd adjust the timetable later - but for now, he was set.

And so, he laughed, stepped closer.

"Something to chew on." He stepped back then, out of her chilly air before backing away. "Enjoy the rest of the party,  _Nan."_

 

 

 **F** elix was waiting for him, as usual, in Peter's room. The air was different, not slowed by alcohol but somehow warmed with the sweet sense of victory.

He twisted the key in the door, left it in to block the view. He wanted his tie for other purposes this time.

Just like the last time, Felix was waiting on the armchair. White starched shirt and black waistcoat crumpled on the floor - jacket hung on the back. In nothing but his vest and trousers. Instead of a glass in his hand, however, there was nothing. His head lolled lazily against the wings in the chair. He was practically snoring.

"What's this?" Peter asked upon entering the room. "You can't wait two minutes?"

"You were a good deal longer than two minutes." Felix replied, blinking his way to consciousness as he stood.

"Was I?" Peter pulled at the knot around his neck, slid the tie off his own neck only to loop it and throw it above Felix's head to lasso the boy in. He pulled, enjoying the slight look of surprise as Felix stumble downwards to meet him at eye level. He felt his breath, the warm scent of tobacco lingering there and the remnants of spearmint from after dinner on his lips and breathed it in. "What, then, if I was otherwise engaged?"

Felix's tongue swiveled behind his teeth. Peter had to wonder if he did it on purpose or if it was some sort of aftereffects of a long-standing oral fixation. Listening to the hitch in Felix's breath he debated telling the story. No doubt Felix would start thinking and there really wasn't the time for that, not with a party roaring down the stairs and a woman who'd previously wanted nothing more than to condemn them slithering around among them.

Felix didn't have the confidence Peter had. He'd get worried.

But, perhaps from habit, Peter was wont to tell his boy every detail. And so, just as he'd latched a hand around Felix's wrist and slid the boy's fingertips down the back of his trousers, subtle permission to feel him, unbuttoning the front in the same motion, he let it out. "I spoke to Cora."

Just as expected, Felix moved to jump away, but with his hand ensnared between Peter's skin and the soft cotton on his pants he could only jostle.

"It's not the battle call you think it is," Peter said, grabbing hold of his tie looped over Felix's neck once more to pull him in close. "I only pointed out a few more effective ways for her to spend her time."

Felix's face didn't relent, although he seemed to step in closer, one hand fanning out over Peter's ass and the other slipping around his wrist. "Do you think she'll listen?"

Peter smirked, maneuvered his hand so that, rather than allowing Felix to keep hold of his wrist their fingers were interlaced - akin to the time Peter had dragged headfirst Felix into the family with the promise  _Brothers_ hanging in the air. This, he thought, was quite the improvement.

"Yes." Peter said. "Even if she's foolish enough to try to tell Gold, she's got to get his attention first. And right now that's entirely on his son. But I've convinced her to reroute. There's got to be some worm in her brain that's getting there. Ideas don't die once they've been planted."

"That's assuming she won't take matters upon herself."

"Don't you think she's a bit too clever to get violent?" Peter scoffed. "We've got time."

"Yes, Peter."

He smiled, rolling his hips into Felix's hand, felt nails dig in and let out a small winded breath. "Say that again."

Felix stooped, loosening the taut strain in the tie around the back of his neck, scraped a lip against the empty spaces between Peter's, pulled a kiss from him. His voice went quiet. "Yes, Peter."

They separated their hands to shrug Peter out of his jacket, waistcoat, shirt. Felix's free hand large enough to pull all off at once; Peter trying to delay the process a bit. Half out of his clothes and half still in them, Peter couldn't help but laugh. "You're always so eager. Want to know why?"

Felix rolled his eyes. "It's obvious."

"If you prefer to live not knowing," Peter conceded, throwing the other half of his shirt on the floor before pulling his vest over his head by the back of the collar. Felix's hand hadn't left his ass, but the other joined him there, treading his fingers along the skin he'd first mapped so long ago.

It was a flurry of movement then, Felix shoving Peter's trousers and pants down from the inside, Peter hopping to shinny out of them. They stumbled across the room, hitting knees and shins on a chest and the footboard of the bed before tumbling down.

Peter slid the tie off from Felix's shoulders. He sat down on Felix's stomach. Liquid threatened to ruin the fine suit paid for by the family that'd kill him if the stain showed. Peter laughed at the tense strings in Felix's shoulders, in his face.

And at the laugh, Felix winced. " _Shhh_."

"I know," Peter laughed, voice descending into a whisper, the fine black tie sliding up the sinew in Felix's arm, he slid his lips up directly behind it. " _Someone could hear us."_

"What are you -" Felix started to ask, question answering itself when Peter found his wrists and pulled them together, scooting up on his belly, pushing his full weight onto Felix's ribs, pinning him down.

"Just relax," Peter grinded against Felix's neck, tongue gliding up the straining tendon bulging out in his neck, leaving a messy wet trail pooling down in the dips by his collarbone. "We've won. Enjoy the victory."

"Yes, Peter."

The music carried up from the ballroom. If Felix was quiet he could hear voices. It felt like exhibitionism.

But Peter's chest was flush with his, his mouth offering sloppy kisses that could drown him, could drink him up and spit him back stone cold sober.

"Say that again."

A nod, a laugh, a breath in his ear.

"Yes, Peter."

A bottle uncapped from the nightstand. Pulses thrumming fast between the veins in their wrists. Peter's hips slotting between them.

"Again."

Felix's knees flattened up to his chest. Peter's tongue sending sparks through his all the way to his cock. A hand intertwined with his.

"Yes, Peter."

Slick warmth teasing against his skin. Buzzing in his ear, fog in his brain.

"Once more, now."

White light. Ears humming. A moment's pain - a bullet through his skin. Breached as easily as though he were the dark water they sent so many others through.

But then, Peter's voice, low in his ear. Pain melted into euphoria. Warmth, electricity,  _fire._

Sunk into the mattress, held underneath quicksand. Dangerous, risky,  _loud._ He was wanted. Needed. Full. Part of something bigger than himself. Part of Peter himself.

" _Y-yes-Peter!"_

 

 

The air got cold later that night. Peter groaned and rolled over sleepily. The warmth and residual pinpricks of euphoria had faded somewhere in the hours asleep, leaving Peter with nothing but the cold October air sifting in through the windowpanes.

Clutching an armful of blankets in hand, Peter pulled them over to his side of the bed. He fully intended to take them up for himself. Felix must've had cocooned himself at some point, however, and the boy came tumbling in with the blankets.

He functioned as an added warmth, so Peter settled in anyhow. Felix accepted the disruption sleepily, lolling his head from pillow to another, allowing Peter's knee to shift over his belly, half covering him but not another part of their bodies touching. The added warmth was appreciated, and Peter nearly found himself dozing off to the faded sound of the orchestra still stringing out their music.

That was until he heard a dull, metallic thud.

A brief mechanical noise, cut through the air for a fraction of a moment before it faded.

Insignificant though it seemed, Peter found himself irreversibly awake. On a reflex, he moved to sit. His knee dug into Felix's gut as he went, an unintentional suckerpunch.

Their skulls knocked. Little pinpricks of light dotted Peter's vision for the moment his forehead throbbed from impact.

"Sorry." Felix amended as though he could have prevented it.

" _Shh_ ," Peter whispered, blinking through the inky dark of the room to make out the hard edges of Felix's face. "Do you hear that?"

They waited, Peter half sitting on top of Felix from where his knee ended up. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked as though Felix was sporting a rather impressive bruise on his collarbone that hadn't been there earlier. Despite the new visual stimulation, there didn't seem to be anything else to be heard. Odd.

Peter was usually good at predicting when something was about to happen _;_ his instincts were sharp. But he was met with nothing.

And therefore, he shook his head. "Go back to sleep."

And as he laid back down, untangling their limbs before hitting the pillow beside his friend, content to fall back asleep.

At least till a small column of yellow light crossed the room, cast on the crumpled clothes strewn across the floor. A steady beam that filled the previous darkness in a way that wasn't anything near reassuring as the phrase suggested.

Peter felt Felix freeze beside him. With a free hand underneath the blanket, Peter extended a finger to draw a quick circle, cold on Felix's skin and the pads of his fingers to press  _down. Don't move. Not yet_.

The beam of light grew wider, accompanied by footsteps. From his position on the outside of the bed, Felix must have caught a glimpse of what had just slithered through the opening. Before the door shut, returning them to darkness, his breath hitched.

Footsteps came closer. Peter's hand clenched in Felix's skin.  _Wait._ The hand on Felix's arm left him, slowly, to slink on the underside of the blankets. Felix seemed to know what he was considering, following suit.

He was calculating. It couldn't just be some soul who'd walked into the wrong room. That metallic clang - someone had picked the lock. Shoved it out from the keyhole and down under the door.

Cora might have hired someone to look for proof - to sneak into the room and find something. Evidence in the first hand. Someone who'd be believed for his word, or else some other proof. If the lights switched on, he ventured that could have been a photographer.

His best guess was entirely crushed in the next moment - a cold, distinct,  _mechanic_ clicking that was far too recognizable in his ears.

A gun.

Seizing hold of the blanket, Peter threw it up in the air, over the side, blinding the intruder. Felix caught on quickly, shoving the blanket-covered mass backwards. Peter jumped up and kicked into something fleshier than he'd expected, forcing the intruder back into the armoire.

Felix lept out of bed and twisted a slim arm, still wrapped under the blankets and murky in the dark. Peter was on his side in a moment, digging his elbow down into the half-bauble he assumed was a skull. He hit a nose. Heard it crack for half a second before it was drowned out with a

_Bang!_

The heap of blankets crumpled on the floor. Gun spiraled out through the air. It hit glass across the room. A lamp sparked and shattered, spitting out bulb and porcelain shade through the room. Still smoking, though whether that was from the shot still ringing in all ears or from hitting the lamp was as unclear as the rest of it. An elegant hand shot out from the blanket, ripping it down as she crumpled to the floor. Black dress, mussed hair from the skirmish under the blanket, and the air around them dropped below freezing. Metallic scent of blood suddenly heavy in the crystallizing air.

Cora hissed, streaks of red across her face and a new crook in her nose. She wadded the blankets into her thigh, staining them red. Leaking on the floor.

For but a moment, Peter froze where he stood. "You. You we're gonna shoot me."

He seemed more distressed in the fact he'd been wrong. She wasn't too clever for violence. He'd walked into a trap and thought he'd been ahead all along.

"-Peter?"

Felix broke him from his thought. Held the gun in one hand, pointed it at Cora. He had a thin line of blood in his palm, a shard of glass from the shattered lamp embedded across a long line in his hand. In the other, trousers. He tossed the latter hand to Peter, who blinked for a moment but then came back to the situation. The crashes. The gunshot. Loud enough to drown the music below.

_Shit._

"Get your clothes on," Peter hissed, as though he'd thought of it, snatching the trousers from Felix's hand and rolling them up his hips.

From her place on the liquid mat of red, Cora grit her teeth. "If you believe-" She hissed. "That putting on clothes will mask any of this…" A breath. "You're sorely mistaken. You have still miscalculated. You will still lose."

"Oh shut up." Peter snapped, stepping over once he'd shoved his trousers high enough on his hips to manage to walk. He lifted his leg and slammed his foot on the side of Cora's face. The blood from her nose splattered warm and wet on the sole of his foot. Her head hit the drawer behind her; Cora fell down in a heap, blood spattered on the wood behind her.

Felix's breathing was heavy. "Peter. Killing without permission-"

" _That's_ what you're worried about?"Peter snapped, turning over to Felix. "And we have a bit of a  _larger problem here-"_

As though a devastating cue, the door swung open further. A company of no less than ten buzzing against the door. Gold at the head of them. "We heard…"

The silence that followed, in that short moment, set Peter's stomach to a boil. Only he and Felix were standing in the light the door, so for the moment all eyes on them. Unfastened trousers, no vests, open shirts. Hair mussed and Felix's purple bruise staring out at everyone as though an extra set of eyes.

No one spoke, however, until Regina had looked away from the centre attraction, over to the heap by the armoire. " _Mother?"_

As though she were the bullet in the gun, Regina pushed past Gold to fall at her mother, fallen in the heap. Her hands were covered in blood when she yelped. "Call an ambulance. Someone!"

With Regina away from the door, more filled the empty space. An amoeba gulping in the empty space, filling all space with its membrane.

Gold looked shocked for a moment, brow furrowed in. Eyes spiraled from Cora in her unconscious heap to the former favorite of the mob boss. Neal and Emma were off Gold's side, shocked expressions trailing behind him, nothing hard in their faces, simply sure explicit shock of what they'd just carried their lives into.

Zelena squirmed through the company, shrill voice carrying, "Ambulance? What ambulance? That's my son's room; let me through!"

It died the second she entered the room. Jaw dropped all the way to the floor. Malcolm followed at Zelena's back. Peter couldn't imagine why he could make out the slightest of a wry grin on his father's face.

Peter couldn't afford to think of it. For a split second the room was petrified and with that, he could still manage to escape. Shouting out " _Felix - get over here"_ around the same time he took two quick strides to the armoire. A fistful of black hair, and he pulled Regina back.

Felix blinked until Peter looked over his shoulder to the gun in his hand and then back up to Felix. The boy understood then, cocking the gun and pressing it against Regina's temple.

The woman froze. Too proud to whimper? Well aware of Peter's lack of limitations? Too frightened to make a noise? Whatever it was, the inner workings of Regina Mills's mind was no longer a priority and Peter wouldn't waste the effort on it. Instead, he straightened, looked Gold square in the eye. Everything had been so underhanded and indirect before. He wondered how the man would take it.

He didn't allow his voice to waver, to fall quieter, to permit anyone else to risk a thought. "You're gonna let us walk. I'm going to leave this house, and you're not going to send anyone after me. Or Regina's first. And then - say, Felix - how clear a shot have you got on Baelfire?"

"I can manage that." Felix's voice wavered, only a bit, but enough for the lack of bluff to shine through, loud and clear.

"Everyone against a wall."

Peter was almost surprised in their compliance. Surely almost every man in the house was packing. Were they waiting for a call? Did everyone have the same annoying adherence to the rules as Felix had displayed?

Killing without the permission…

There were multiple variables, and Peter was more than capable of juggling them all. It must have been them waiting for a call. No one loved Regina outwardly - she was too much of a puppet of her mother's, delivered too much bad news. Neal was too new to have won the affections of the family so well that the threat on his life had taken hold.

It was all obedience. Compliance.

Fascinating.

Peter wasn't stupid enough to try to exit from the front door. Instead, he jerked Regina's head over to Felix, prompting he hold her where he stood; she squirmed till the gun sunk harder into her skin. And Peter climbed over the bed, walking backwards, watching for a tick or man's hand in his pocket. He unlatched the window, October breeze blowing in and mingling with the metal in the air.

The window opened and the fire escape unlatched, clanging to the ground.

Peter climbed out, straddled the window and kept a sharp eye on as many people as he could. Tried to keep tabs on them all. Once he was out the window, slid against the rough boulders making the exterior to make aiming a greater task.

He called Felix over, watching as the boy exited in kind. Slowly walking backwards, gun poised at Regina's head. From his new position Peter could see the way her face was drawn tight, caught in a prayer, apparent fear, watching the family - wondering if they'd let her burn as a testament to the rules, to the law, to the rights and the wrongs.

When all was said and done, Peter thought, this could really be a self-esteem booster for her. He almost laughed at the warped thought; she might still get her ranch in the countryside yet.

Felix flung the woman down when he dived out the window, hit the grated floor of the fire escape and waited for the go-ahead from Peter.

Slinking under the sill, moving quickly, Peter led him down the ladder. They'd almost climbed down by the time they heard sirens wailing up the road.

So someone had managed to call an ambulance. Someone could have heard and be waiting for them, waiting to pull a trigger on them both. News travelled fast in the family.

"We need a car," Peter mumbled as they dashed through the cold air, still in various states of disarray. "You remember how to wire one, don't you?"

Felix grunted, punctuating his unseen nod while running. They slid in by a bench, leaning on its back in a mad attempt to regroup. "I think I have an idea."

Peter lowered a brow. It wasn't time to play games.  _But_ , he couldn't help but hear a high voice in his ear - almost his father's voice. He'd been  _wrong_ recently. Cora did lower herself to physical violence. He hadn't been as untouchable or unseen as he'd assumed. Baelfire had not provided a strong enough of a distraction.

He swallowed, low. Unwilling to admit what he was conceding to. "Go on."

 

 

Felix led him through the shadows to a house. Unremarkable, red-roofed and surrounded by groomed bushes. Clearly inhabited. Peter bit back the urge to revoke Felix's decision then and there.

It almost came out again when he knocked. A red-faced old woman swung the door open, hard eyes behind square specs, messy locks of white hair strung down from her bun.

Why on earth Felix went to the Widow Lucas at a time like that…

"I don't have anything I need to pay you," The old woman spoke with a clear voice, louder than most might have. "I have no debts and  _you_ have no reason to be here."

Felix shook his head. "Is Ruby in?"

The girl in question seemed to have been nearby, popped in behind her grandmother's head nearly the moment her name was spoken. Curiosity crossed her face for a moment, an uneven quirk in her overly rouged lips. "Felix? What're you doing here?"

The Widow Lucas's face got even harder set, she nearly slammed the door then and there, but Ruby's hand caught the door.

"Granny," Ruby pled. "Look at them. Something's wrong."

"And you expect me to sympathize with-?" Widow Lucas turned her head.

Ruby sighed, loud and more than a little irritated.

Felix stuck his hand between the door, partially a deterrent, but more so they could both see neither of them were even wearing shoes.

At the sight, the old woman scowled, but backed away.

"I want to give you my bank numbers." Felix said afterward, slow and to the point. Peter watched from off his shoulder, gnawing on the side of his cheek. "Take some for yourself. Give it to Ashley. Burn it. It doesn't matter."

Ruby swallowed, eyes narrowing and head tilting to the side. Widow Lucas frowned. "And what are you asking from us?"

Felix looked around, hearing sirens from down the road. Taking Cora to the hospital. Searching for them. Neither or both.

"We need to disappear."

 

 

They'd been admitted in the end. Widow Lucas mumbling the whole time how this was not a usual practice and looking over her shoulder, out the window, around corners. Felix wrote down the numbers he promised in exchange for an envelope with a handful of bills, the keys to an old jalopy, and a suitcase with a change of clothes for each of them. Ruby had mentioned sadly they belonged to someone who went for a drive once. Peter hadn't liked the look in Felix's face when he'd heard the confession. He didn't like it even more when  _he_ was sitting in the passenger's seat, counting the bills pensively, alone in the car while Ruby and Felix stood a few yards away, half shrouded by the mist in the forest around them. Whatever it was they had to talk about, Peter was sure it wasn't as important as his life. And yet they stood.

Peter couldn't hear them, but he knew what they were talking about. Saying goodbye and 'stay safe' and verifying that if the family were to ask, neither Ruby nor her grandmother had seen a damn thing. All the cliches for a friendship ripping at the seams due to distance. A friendship that Peter hadn't seen develop or exist.

Irritating, but he'd address that later.

And so, he busied himself planning the route. They'd sell the car in a slum in Chicago. Take a train to St. Paul and from there, Seattle. He didn't know of any family in major power that far west. A few bootleggers here and there, but it'd be easy enough to blend in and build up a group of friends. And, if the opportunity presented itself, he could come back to Maine and teach the Gold and Mills family what horrified looks were really worth.

He'd calculated the plan - but Felix wasn't in the driver's seat.

Peter found himself growling when he looked out of the window and saw Felix still standing so far away, his back to Peter. Ruby's mouth was moving - a disgusting amount of compassion there. And then a small, sad smile. And then a laugh.

Peter looked away when she kissed him on the cheek. Eyes cast down. The world as he knew it teetering, threatening to fall off its axis. But then, returning the world to its new stasis, Felix joined him at long last, slammed the door behind him.

Peter frowned, leaned in over the side of the seat, licked his own palm from its heel to his fingertips. He smeared the lipstick on the side of Felix's face, wiped it away. He slumped back into position, locking his arms at his chest. It wasn't the time, but sometimes multitasking was harder than others. And so, Peter ventured to ask. "When you were on about that getting a wife rot - I was right, wasn't I? You had someone in mind."

Felix's eyes slid over to Peter. "You're the only person I need."

"Nice line. But not an answer."

"No."

Peter nodded, not quite confident, but relishing the fact he was able to wring the one he wanted from his friend, even after everything. Nothing left but the fact he could wring the answers he wanted from Felix.

Felix sighed, twisted the keys in the ignition, "Where to?"

"I'll tell you," Peter said, smallest of confidences building up again when Felix nodded and pushed his toe on the accelerator without challenge, lurched the car forward and didn't look back.

Peter's empire was devastated, yes, but only for the moment. He'd get back, find a way to be untouchable - and a way for that to be a reality. But, for the time being, Felix would take him wherever he needed to go.

And this time, getting caught was the only crime he wouldn't commit.

_**End.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy last sentence title drops are cheesy.
> 
>  _Wow._ I honestly didn’t think I’d ever get this thing _finished_ much less polished enough for publication. It’s been a long, wild ride since its conception in October. 
> 
>  
> 
> ****
> 
> Acknowledgements 
> 
> This fic would never have made it without the freakin’ village it took to get it rolling. So many thanks to everyone who helped me, whether it was helping me with a specific question, looking over passages and early drafts, inspiring me with an idea, or listening to me ramble and rant. And, of course, thank you to anyone who read, gave kudos, and kept me excited to read feedback between chapter uploads. It all means the world to me. ♥
> 
> Specific shoutouts to (alphabetically) ~ 
> 
> _mintleaftea_ for introducing me to the idea of a friendship between Felix and Ruby - without which this fic would have have a much more convoluted resolution. 
> 
> _paintingoncobwebs_ for tremendous help in figuring out where the plot was gonna go, characterization aid for Regina and Cora, and for reading over an early draft of this. This thing probably never would’ve left storyboards if not for you. 
> 
> _pxrtisan_ for aid in Felix's characterization. 
> 
> _z0mbieshake_ for looking over pages, introducing me to my new-founded Malcolm love, for ceaseless encouragement, and always being there to talk to. And basically for being awesome on all fronts. 
> 
>  
> 
> ****
> 
> and of course to my amazing beta, Natalie. Your comments and edits made the quality of this piece skyrocket to high heavens and you just helped me so, so, so much. This story would never have gotten where it did without your wonderful pickiness and ideas. You rock my world and I am forever grateful to you.


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